Simple Signs

Before I turn down the covers I always check on her. Tip toe in the dark, cover her with a blanket, wait to discover the formation of her body in sleep. Every night I am moved by the simple shape of small arms and legs curled to center. Tonight she is a butterfly on its back. Arms up, elbows bent, a perfect halo to frame her budding cheeks. Legs fall open, a pond reflection of the arms, to make a limbed circle.

In the nights I get to watch how the body makes its own nest. I get to see the seed of a girl whose tendrils are full of trust.

One gift of trauma: I have to keep looking for signs of life. I have to watch the simple things intently for the information they hold.

Sewing. Needle goes in and comes out to bring two disparate pieces together. Healing. Enter the fabric of a wound, come up through the missing experience, weave the two together.