Samia

She was five when her mother left her
At the movies with her baby brother and
Never returned which could have been
The end of the story though it’s not—
Who knows why—maybe popcorn or
Her brother, or maybe grace; it’s hard
To find the truth sometimes, but she made
It seem simple how we’re meant to live,
When every day as I arrived she ran
To wrap her arms around me, nuzzling in
Beneath my shirt until she felt us skin to skin.
Then she went still, like water waiting, and,
For a moment, so did I.