Tuesday, August 17, 2010

The Rex

Her baby hand is in her mother's.
They cross the street, the traffic a blur
Of raucousness and confusion.
But the hand is soft and warm.
It keeps the traffic away.
In the cool of the movie house they sit side by side.
The child's hair is smoothly shiny.
Her mother removes her sunglasses,
Puts it away in her purse.
Rapt and secure, the child sits small.
She hears her mother's even breathing
As the screen jumps up and down.
The moments will be lost later,
But she stretches them into eternity.

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