The Maynard
Spring 2018

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an understanding

you, not yet two
called out in the night
I followed with my hands
down the hall
found you standing
in your crib
with few words in your arsenal
you screamed No
          right through me
and cried out
for your father

by the time you were peeled from my arms writhing, in fits
and fell quiet on his shoulder
I no longer understood the logic and nonsense of night terrors
the right of anyone else
to hold you,
only
the woman who stares out the window in her housecoat
all day
the mother who walks into cold water
slowly