Tip toe quietly, Mommy sleeps
after her special drinks,
all crimson.

The pink fruit of my imagination
peeks out at me as I peel
away the thick outer skin.

I wish Mommy would wake and play.

Dark liquid smells like
the bandages on my scrapes. Bitter
Sweet voices sing
away sorrows and scraped knees.

Mommy wakes
angry at the noise of my playing.

I think of days gone
Before.

Mommy in the garden
singing to the sun.

Daddy watching.

Orange-pink globes hang
then fall.