July 18, 2019
There is a sleepy, barely standing girl
Staring me down
The eyes are unwavering
A little droopy, dark pools of desire
The clanging, the smells, the past history
In this kitchen.
She lowers her head
Slightly wagging as I eat a bite of food
Taking all my effort to feed myself
It looks like sadness
Its not for you
A sleepy yet steady anticipation she holds, not hearing me
I have the feeling as I take the last bites
It would be soul-crushing
As if I told her the worst possible news about her loved one in a tragic accident.
She gently totters with the tired eye stare down, waiting.
With faith, with denial.