Arrival
The
deadbolt clicked— open. Sour shoe leather in waves from the uncorked foyer. The
open door inducts. I trip into the dark palming the wall for a light-switch.
The baby’s eyes startle widely at the threshold of light. A week’s worth of
keepsakes clunk on the hardwood floor. The bags slump together like shoulders.
We’ll comb the mess out tomorrow. Lay the baby between us in the dark and
spread your fingers over cold bamboo sheets. If sleep undoes the thought we’ll
know by morning.
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