by Justine Camacho-Tajonera
At 5 a.m. she cries,
she demands,
she will not be denied.
I wake up, startled,
obeying an instinct, following
a predetermined course on a map
with my brain half-asleep.
Soothed, she cups my face
in her tiny hands.
She looks into my eyes.
The room is still dark
but her eyes are shining.
Who is this who heard me?
Who is this who completely
understood me?
Years from now
someone will fall in love
with her
for those eyes.
I smile and take her hands
in mine before we both
fall back to sleep.
For Clea
Image is of Ponyo (Hayao Miyazaki's Ponyo on the Cliff)
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