My mother’s worries are fear, love
and anger.
Dad drinks another shot
wiping his brow as he
gently strokes her
soft, dark hair.
He turns for a moment, and she
takes the bottle away.
Another game of hide and seek.
My brother and I
lie still in our beds
awaiting the darkness
and after that
The bright morning sun and
everyone’s
silence.
the fragrance of dew 