Her eyes are full,
expecting there to be news
she dragged her thumb
lazily across the screen.
There in our dimly lit room,
she mouthed a set of words,
she had obviously
practiced many times before.
Anxiety builds, the room goes quiet.
I swear I saw her lips move,
but sound didn’t register.
She stepped into view,
and shouts,
“Say something!”
With her smile on hold
I was standing there,
I heard the word,
“Baby.”
My smile reached hers.
In disbelief for sure,
it is too soon to tell
exactly what’s in our mind.
She struggles,
and I too, and in our fog
while playing hide-and-seek,
she mouths,
“I have something to tell you,”
that was the last thing
I remember her saying.
She said it again,
“Baby.”
Her news on the phone,
so lazily towards me
that I reached for her,
she climbed up on my lap.
Anchored and ready,
she whispered the word again,
“Baby.”
