A cool feeling of a half used tablet on my lap.

The current page positioned neatly between tiny bored in the backseat scribbles of a child.

My child.

Blank, it stares up at me, waiting and knowing it is the perfect hour,

Our usual hour to be seduced.

I glower back, knowing the words don’t visit me as I rest anymore.   

 

So I sit here in yesterday’s clean pajamas,

Beside yesterday’s coffee mug.

My fingers mimic the shape of an L around my mouth.

Next to me are a dictionary, and a headless ken doll.

Ken was bumped off by my daughter’s seven year olds hands.

I gave up looking underneath beds a month ago.

 

And so I sit here in front of this mirror next to Ken.

My creases whisper softly like preschoolers telling secrets,

“We cometh in Peace”

I could roll in the isles cackling except,

I reply

“THE HELL YOU DO”

 

It hits me then,  

Little brown eyes peeking through a crack in the door,

Placed neatly among tiny seven year old,

Pink painted fingernails.

A spy?

Eyes curled up with wonder and orneriness.

Like a teenager sneaking out,

With her dilapidated blanket in tow.

She nestles herself into my chest.

As I take in the scent of her grape shampoo and coconut lotion.  

Soon, I forget about the laundry,  the creases,  and Ken’s missing head.

 Photo Courtesy of my daughter CJ