we are hidden inside
while it thunders
when you call for me, in the three o'clock
dark of my room, I roll off
and curl fetal on the far side of the bed
to test
your temper.
You come in,
the dog's eyes are sharper
but the sound of your voice
fills the room.
You run along my aggravate silence,
horse feet searching the house, the creak of
the family room floorboard, the bare
slap on kitchen tile, the rattled shower
curtain, a burst into the closet -
your timbre gains an edge of question.
The screen door crash as you check the porch,
that last spot,
just sheltered, where
after dark, we sometimes dull the day.
Now, I am a cruel
hone even to your silence. From the rack you
gather your jacket, sheathing thin
bones, turn back outside.
I count your steps
watch your back
rise and reclaim you.
Where were you going?
To look for you.
Were you worried?
YES!
I tell him I will never leave him
a large lie to tell a small boy,
who stood
looking for me,
foot-soaked in the downpour,
his hand upon the gate.