In Their Voices
Why will they not come to bed? It is way past time—I feel the weight of it in my bones, heavy with 11 years of leaps and spins and play bows. Mom’s the easier touch, but she’s still sitting at the kitchen table with a pen in her hand. I nudge her elbow with my nose.
“Yes, Louie, I know, it’s beddybye time,” she says, so distracted you’d think she was staring down a squirrel. She stands and takes a few steps, but only to stare into the coldbox. Good. She’s remembered to say goodnight to the leftovers. Now, we’ll go upstairs and—
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via Whisker Therapy