when did I wake up to find that everything had changed?
I hear you breathing in the other room
that slow dream-breath, the only time you’re truly happy anymore
when you can’t know anything else.
I move your glasses off the counter when I clean,
almost forget they’re yours.
my cup is washed, the coffee cold before you drink it.
is this the metaphorical mountain?
is this the part where we find out what we’re made of?
I have weapons at the ready but I’m tired – tired of this, not you.
take me back to the valley, hold me a while, even if we struggle to remember.
Magic Mama 