Scared. Middle of the street
lights reflect on wide,
dark windows into her
desperate present.

It is very hot, and as she takes it
into her
two small hands,
she is so careful
to get it to her face–inhales.
to her chest, over her heart.
Heart beating against urges to scream,
She is past tantrums now.
She’s someone’s daughter,
and with a slow,
deliberate retreat, she drops her eyes in the steam.

“What if she were mine?”
He asks without speaking,
the moment passes on the phone.
Cold Seattle Night Starbuck,
the scales keep tipping.