On a good day I’ll remember my mask
after I’ve shut the door
go back inside for it and realise
the sun pushes lace and leaf
shadows around my daughter’s room
toys spread carefully
on a good day
I’ve spent an hour or two forgetting
I’ll need a mask if we go out there.
The change table is a safe place, you learn
no longer protesting instead
laughing, finding your voice, kicking
to the edge raising eyebrows
until I respond.
You wake with a shout sometimes
then a smile when your dad or I
appear, faces goofy with love.
You’re all gums and drool.
One day soon you’ll sleep through
and I’ll miss our 4am meetings
when you feed with focus, then come to
that gummy smile again as you realise, I imagine,
I was here all along.