I
stood and watched you sleeping, had
stood
there watching for nearly five minutes in
the
shadow of the
hallway
for nearly five minutes of circus
time
before I dropped your purse on the chair, quiet as death
and
slipped quietly out the door, defying
detection.
Your bare back
was
open to anyone and everyone coming in, bareback
riders
slip in through the cracks of hotel security all the time, defying
even
little girl sanctity. Yesterday, I dreamt of your death
how
I would deal with it, wondering if you
survived the circus
of
the imaginary midnight ambushes that haunted my mind, the
big
sister duties I’d imposed upon myself stuck in
my
head, driving me crazy--Why didn’t you call this morning? I had
this
idea of how this would all work out, I had
it
all planned out, but I can’t play everyone’s mother, not in
this
life. I’m stretched too thin as it is. The
alarm
clock rings in my head before true circus
time,
and I can’t sleep for worrying about you, little girl—death.
Nobody
is going to come when you scream. It defies
all
logic, but it’s true. You left your bare back
open
all night. Please tell me you lock your door now.
Please
tell me
you’re
all right.
