Letter to my Daughter

Sometime past midnight

I am reading your note, the story of your equinox afternoon. I smell the sugary musk of rain and rot. I see the field and you in slow motion playing with a ball that gets away and rolls into the elongating shadows of the trees. I am a slug munching leaves there and twitch my antennae in the vibrating air as you pass. You kick the ball back into the open under the cloudless sky.

Tomorrow the light will begin its retreat, allowing my world to sink back into its roots. In breath, out breath. Bittersweet. Little Molly is curled here beside me, her thin black lips hidden by white hair.

I love you always.

Mom
2003