Her eyes were distant
But there was enough real in her
To touch me
As she wandered in her mind
My father was brewing, frantic
French
Onion soup
But she no longer understood dinner
He was sweating
Like the onions
Sure, I’ll open the wine
I stole a sip straight from the bottle
Like a boy/girl
Sand
Sifted
In the bathroom
She wanted me to help her
Our roles reversed
Of course,
I expected this
But when she covered her eyes
And cried
The child in me
Could not
Untangle her
Tears
I am barely a person.
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