Evening fell—Papa returned,
Storm in step, and fire in eyes.
In the dim-lit room, he saw
A little girl curled in silence,
He touched her head—
A tired stroke, half-love, half-lost.

He saw her doll—tattered, torn,
Matted hair, a bruised cheek, a wounded lip.
His temper sparked, his face turned flame—
“Just yesterday, I brought her home with joy—
What ruined her so soon, this toy?”

Th...

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Wandering the winter roads,
I found a few soft balls of wool—
left behind by someone
in the bitter cold of last year.

I brought them home
and tucked them into
the torn blanket
that mother wrapped herself in—
hoping maybe,
just maybe,
the holes would fill on their own.

That I wouldn't have to hear
her bones shiver through the night,
or watch her lips
tighten against the cold
like...

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