I watch them at night,
guardian of their dreaming.
It is harder than I expected
standing vigil.
Their hands open and close in sleep,
reaching for something out of reach.
They are out of reach.
I kiss the soft face,
brush back the bangs I have forgotten to trim again.
One murmurs some soft sound, indistinct.
The other reaches an arm up to push me away.
I cover them. Again.
They have shed the disappointments of the day
like dirty clothes. I gather them up in my basket.
The tape recorder clicks and falls silent.
The street is silent.
I stand in the doorway, close my eyes.
In the darkness, I see my mother.
I see her mother.
We briefly stand together, silhouetted against the hallway light
Before I close the door and say goodnight.