today analeigh gave
a single fragile blink
before bursting into
tears--I've never seen
a child cry.


I've seen children cry.
but from a distance, across
the counter, in the aisle over.
I've seen hundreds of scrunched
faces and balled fists, dozens of
raised voices dismissed in popular
clutter but

when she dipped her head and fell
between the cracks, lost in between
vowels and performance orientation
before I could catch the things that
had been said and suddenly
i was aching, welling, raging
holding--tucking little strands
of wet hair behind blushing ears
and my voice was new and not
mine--soft and assuring
no, no, sweet girl

you are so smart
breaking a bit
for a baby
folded into
social constructs

she cried
and I broke
for her.

the hot water only lasts about 11 minutes
which is just enough time if I don't shave
so I don't shave and for the first time in
weeks I'm idle, with exhaust streaming
out my pores, all shallow breath and
wet hair watching the water hit the
curtain behind me, thinking about
how glad I am to only pay for
electricity, thinking about
how god, i just wanted
to run tunnel drive
this morning but
could barely
muster the
energy to
talk much
less   fe   e l any thin
                                     g

my dad speaks to the
birds in the evenings
while he trims the
grass--if you stand
in the doorway
hidden by the
cabinets, you
can hear
them
speak
back.