Craving

I see her through the glass, tears

staining her face

bilaterally, a study

in defeat.

When I ask her why she

runs, places

every dream in a
bottle, there is only

more pain

and trembling, an

honest answer.

I wonder why she tries

so hard to survive

this life, some others

would rather take flight.

But today she has done nothing

wrong, all the mistakes

of the past resting in her

eyes and a folder

too thick to close.

She only wants her daughter,

the one she neglected

in a drunken delerium, and

for all these next days to pass,

the most cruel ones.

She only wants go to home.

I get that. How often have I been horrified

by life and

prayed for

my own bed to hold me?