Wishes...

A poem

The front door clicks ~ not slams ~ through the window I watch her backpack bob down the sidewalk, pink straps I didn’t adjust.

Her hand doesn’t reach back for mine. She doesn’t turn to check if I’m watching. The spell breaks quietly like that.

I used to be the one who knew which shoe went on which foot, who could find the lost library book by instinct, by magic, by being needed.

Now the house ticks in a different key. The morning light falls on the counter where her bowl sat, rinsed, already gone.

The door stays closed. Outside, the bus groans to a stop, swallows her up, and I realize ~

I’ve been holding my breath like a wish

that’s finished coming true.