Lightfall

Parenthood at the edge of change.

My wife calls me into the bathroom.
Our daughter flat on the tiled floor,
anemic spirit, wevet-white.

I notice—for the first time—
the fine golden web of pubic hair,
wavering like spun light.

I feel unsteady, unsure
where to focus my eyes,
searching for yesterday’s child.

“She’s been sick,” my wife says.
“Maybe a tummy bug.”

Half shadow, half glow,
in the lightfall of becoming.

Downstairs, our son
plays video games, oblivious
to the tender shifts of our world.

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