The Mother

Late into the night

when little girls are usually sleeping

she comes in to kiss her daughter goodnight.

 

The gentle breeze of the open air sweeps into the room

through the cracked window

chilling the shadows and bringing the moon to life.

 

The little girl watches as shapes dance across her ceiling

from passing headlights outside

creating uneven patterns and chasing away the dark.

 

When the bedroom door opens

sharp floresant triangles cut into the room quietly

even before the door shuts- she knows who it is.

 

With her eyes shut tightly

she waits for the feeling of home

in her mothers lips on her cheek.

 

The room is dark,

but the smell of cigarettes on her mother's fingers is comforting.

wisps of stray hair fall against her neck

 

And she knows she is Loved.