This morning I discovered the words below. They were typed across a single sheet of paper, which had been stuck haphazardly into the pages of a book on a high shelf in my office.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It is thirteen days since September 11th, and tonight my two-and-a-half year old daughter and I lay curled atop her lightly-battered Ikea toddler bed and waited for her to fall asleep.
I idly reached under her pajama top to tickle her bare back.
Delilah fidgeted for a bit. Grew still.
And out of silence, slowly began to sing.
Though her song took the form of questions, she did not wait for me to answer. Indeed, it seemed barely to matter that I was even in the room.
Mom, what happens to your body when you have a baby?
What happened to the pilot?
What happens to your body, Mom?
Who's gonna clean up the mess?
What happened to the Twin Towers?
Where are the bats?
Who's gonna clean up the mess?
What happens to your body?
There was a period of silence. And then Delilah began again.
Happily ever after
Happily ever after
Happily ever after.
Delilah fidgeted for a bit. Grew still.
And out of silence, slowly began to sing.
Though her song took the form of questions, she did not wait for me to answer. Indeed, it seemed barely to matter that I was even in the room.
Mom, what happens to your body when you have a baby?
What happened to the pilot?
What happens to your body, Mom?
Who's gonna clean up the mess?
What happened to the Twin Towers?
Where are the bats?
Who's gonna clean up the mess?
What happens to your body?
There was a period of silence. And then Delilah began again.
Happily ever after
Happily ever after
Happily ever after.
No comments:
Post a Comment