That pale little hand being led to the bedroom
Those corduroy jeans being tossed to the floor
That innocent smile as he leans in to kiss her
The green of her eyes as they lay down for more
The very same eyes I caught reading Harry Potter past their bedtime.

Those bouncy red curls flattened against the bedspread
Twisted and tangled and coated in gel
Those delicate hands exploring his body
Those tiny girl’s hands, that I knew so well
The very same that shook me awake year after year on Christmas morning.

What happened to the little princess?
The cross country runner?
The sweet baby girl?

The science fair champion:
Arching her back and closing her eyes
gasping and panting and
pulling him closer
To the body I held in the hospital.

The clumsy ballerina:
Being rocked back and forth
Going limp with pleasure
Sighing satisfied
With the voice that asked me for a later bed time.

My rosy cheeked child who loved musical theatre
and wore purple sweaters
is gone.