In the early afternoon my mother
was doing the dishes. I climbed
onto the kitchen table, I suppose
to play, and fell asleep there.
I was drowsy and awake, though,
as she lifted me up, carried me
on her arms into the living room,
and placed me on the davenport,
but I pretended to be asleep
the whole time, enjoying the luxury --
I was too big for such a privilege
and just old enough to form
my only memory of her carrying me.
She's still carrying me to a softer place.
Leo Dangel, Saving Singletrees (WSC Press, 2013)
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