This is dark, it's a tumbler. It's a wash.
These brown leaves, these shivering things.
What I want is to feel my way through
the lock of this gray cacoon. Because there are
cracks in this cover, enough for a finger
or two to slip their way through
Because there is light on the other side
Because there is hope.
God damn it. I am strong enough.
God damn it I should be fighting this great,
gaping yawn and this tight chest that lets
no breath out. God damn it, I should be screaming
Say it now: I AM SCREAMING. And this will
open up all the way. I will learn to let life through.

In the dark of her room, she curles herself into a wisp of a girl, head burrowed against my cheek. I rub her back, stroke her hair. She sends an arm around my neck, tugging me in a quick, sure hug. There is that pleasant lock of things fitting. Daughter leaning into mother, learning about this simple love.