By Justine C. Tajonera
I crawled into bed after having chased you
in the mall. My white shirt was the worst choice
for spaghetti and pizza. All I want is nothing
after a morning filled with you. Gratitude is
something that hasn't occurred to me yet.
Your shrill cries are still ringing in my ears.
I crawl out of bed looking for you,
Looking for reparation. There will be a day
when all I want is for you to shout at the
top of your lungs, "Mommy, Mommy!"
There will be a day when I will want those little
hands around my neck even with spaghetti sauce.