I tuck her in at moonlight
Curl onto ground next opened up crib
an end of day ceremony
I hold tiny hand.
My heart sings to mossy dreamland goddess in silence
She often has mercy on me
Tonight
She. answers.
My daughter's long lashes flutter in closure
A soft sigh
Tug of a tuft
brush of a nose with special blanket

She whispers back
"Sweet dreams, mommy."

My days of damage and dread and adulthood are nothing
It will never mean anything.
It does not mean anything.
It means nothing.
Nada.

Her slumber breath
Makes me a saint
I worship
her fingernails. the ceiling. the womb

I beg my brain to
re-write the day in permanent marker
Only to counter the days I have existed  
in a trance
stumbling through streets
seeking anyone who can dry erase
The utter demand of existence

How can I as one woman possess
So much love and sanctity
All the while reigning in resistance.