Little things. you called me from my sleep always so that slipping from one stage of consciousness to another was never painful, but a simple awakening. I cannot recall a single morning when I was jerked awake by you, as long as you were alive and the mornings I woke up in your house. and there was always fragrant Lopchu tea and a container of biscuits, Marie and Nice, on the tray. and I will myself to remember this each time I swallow a get-up yell as I look down at my own daughter, her eyelashes resting on her soft cheeks, tottering on the edge of her dreams, and I try, I try to remember all the small big things you did.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Jul 2014 06:26:32 +0000
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