Each night, round two a.m.,
I wake to the same dream.
A perfect girl-child
Seeking comfort from her tears.

Fear, sorrow, want?

I don’t know why, but they flow
Till I lay her on my breast,
Soothe her cheek,
Smooth her hair.

It takes some time
Til, with a little giggle,
Then a sigh, she cuddles in,
Closes her drenched eyes
Peacefully, replaces woe
With weary eyelids
Fluttering in their own
Lullaby.

Sad little child,
Perfection set aside,
You’ll learn to laugh
Not cry, the way,
Imperfect though it be,
We survive this
Vale of tears.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 12, 2018