“You’re my precious baby angel,”
says she, oblivious to the grey
curled in knots around my head.
“My precious baby angel.”
I kiss her forehead.
She’s just been to the
Beauty Shop. Her own hair is
darker than mine, freshly
shampooed by the rubber-
bellied woman who is here
twice a month. Cut and
curled into ever-thinning
wisps around her face.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her.
She is. Blue eyes that are truly
Bright and a smile that slays.
How could he ever have hit her.
How could he ever have knocked
her to the ground. How could he ever
have tried to kick all life from her.
“As long as I’m beautiful for you,
Baby Angel, that’s all I care about.”
She will tell me much the same
eight hours from now when I
kiss her goodnight. And I will
tell her again that she is. And
both of us will mean it. Even
more than we do now.
©sdrogers 10 july 2013