the night found me, a room of my own in a sky of moon and tree shadow, and i stopped my dishes, looked up into stars which scripture says he’s counted and that’s when i heard it,

as lentils stuck to soup bowl, rice hardened white, and hands aged with the spoons

i heard, you’re not forgotten.

and the padded knees on stairs, the call of father from play-room below, the baby boy’s face emerging and pushing bum up and then, standing and running to mommy for a hug while duplo and horse rides and train sets and daddys waited,

this spoke it louder

and we held each other for a long time

(for one shot poetry)