I bend and snap closed her pink heart-covered raincoat,
my knees creaking, the fabric swishing.
I sweep back a lock of her wavy blonde hair
and click the purple flower clip into place.
We will rush for shoes and boots and bag.

She cries when she’s tired, only she doesn’t know that’s the reason.
I wipe the salt-drops from beneath her eyes,
some slipping over her cheeks, falling to her belly, or to the floor.
We hug.  She crawls onto to my unsteady, half-squat lap.
I am bending and she is held.

1 Comment

  1. Cynthia says:

    Ahhh…the bending of love. The stooping of love…

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