the moon, she was full.
she started crying in the middle of the night. i opened the door to find her with eyes closed, face pinched.
i had a bad dreeeeeam.
i lifted her tiny branch of a leg up and over so that i could scoot myself beside her. fresh from nursing the baby, my body warm and pliable and functional. i pushed the hair from her forehead and she reflexively put her hair right back where it was, erasing my fingers from her skin.
do you want to tell me about it?
i spoke gently, her eyes still closed, knowing that sometimes you want someone to be there but you want to be alone. she was silent, sobbing slowly and breathing slightly less shallow with each exhale, her face relaxing ever so slightly.
it was a flower. it was...
she stopped, breath caught. i imagined dragons and fires and abandoned alleys. sirens and scars and bad decisions. she inhaled sharply.
imaginary fingers pinched her lungs like balloons and the air pierced out in a compressed stream, trailing along the letter g.
oh, that is bad. how about we think of something that makes you happy so that you can fall asleep again?
quiet. her cries turn into whispers. i think maybe she's fallen back asleep already, her eyes never once having opened.
you. i'll think about you, mommy.
she rolled over and i couldn't help myself. i touched her hair again.