The morning I woke up
from my worst nightmare,
I was mantled by agitation,
trembling trembling trembling.

"It's not real,"
I appeased my weary soul
as I lied on the edge
of my muddled bed.

An entrance of
a petite figure interrupted,
then lied down beside me,
trembling trembling trembling.

"Oh mother dear,
why do you shed tears?"
She answered with a glassy stare,
"Your dad is having an affair."

I held her close while she sobbed,
just as she did to me
when I was crying about my wounded knees
in my early childhood.

Throat tight,
I fought the tears.
Eyes shut,
I dismantled the fears.

Yet there was no method to ever
erase the memory of
the morning I woke up
from my worst nightmare.