The Space Between a Mother and Child

For Kelly

The hum of the fan, finger drums pull me
from my sleep. When you are away, I am
a light sleeper. Blue lights from the city
speckle the wall; the neighbor’s din rolls
me awake. I relocate to the porch, listen
to the palms scratch the back roof; dogs
scavenge behind the dumpster. You,
across town preparing for bed. Another
woman brushes your hair, wraps blankets
around you. Despite the distance, the space
between us is less than the air pocket we
cradle in our clasped hands.

Originally published in Creations Magazine


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