Lately she’s been coming in telling me she misses me.
Most nights, sometime between midnight and one AM, I hear the familiar sound of pounding little feet on the linoleum floor. She’s always running from something,
Or maybe she is running to something, I haven’t figured that out yet.
I’ve been so tired lately.
There’s been nights I don’t realize she’s in my bed until I feel her pressed into the curve of my back, never able to get close enough.
“I miss you. I miss you Mommy.”
She repeats it a few times in the pitch of night, making sure that I hear her.
I miss you Sybil.
This morning at 5:20.
I awoke with her leg strewn across my middle,
Quietly figured my way out of bed,
Pressed my pillow against her as replacement warmth and headed down the stairs to the shower.
Good morning Sybil.
The pitch of night, she can’t get close enough.
The pitch of night bears no pictures,