She wasn’t the wolf
under the bed or the one
who huffed the three houses
down when the pigs were
asleep. She wasn’t the one
who laid her head down
on that pillow while they
hollered words of
comfort and love. She was the
one who slept quietly
as he touched her feet and
touched her legs
and perhaps
kept her warm
when the drink dizzied
her up and her lips were
numb. I heard her.
And he said he loved her.
And I thought of her feet
very small with five toes
each and I thought
of her breath
her huff caressing
a strand of hair on
her forehead. That soft
inhalation as she felt his
hands between
her toes.