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.”