One More Day

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ONE MORE DAY


In the morning she whimpers

behind the closed door 

of the nursery, caged

in her crib. Not rage 

or fear of abandonment, 

because until this point 

someone’s always come 

to lift her from beneath the arms, 

so call it more a prayer 

that this happen sooner 

than later, with here and there

maybe a hint of that fear

of abandonment, because who’s to say 

today won’t be the day 

the magic runs thin? 


Imagine the excitement, 

then, when she hears 

the hiss of callused feet, the floor-

board creak? Or really, why imagine, 

when you know all too-well 

how it feels for something 

inside you to be pressed against

the thin bars of your ribs, straining

to hear your name even

whispered, or just one more

glimpse of a shadow beneath the door.

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