Ate a slice of wonderbread and went right back to bed.
She washes my hair, pulling it away from my face. Facing my chair toward the mirror, she pulls a cape over my shoulders and takes her shears to the layering. I'm considering my own eyes, eyes with nothing to hide, feeling like I'm living up to my own name. I could question why I'm laughing little exhales with a lump in my throat that couldn't be topped by a nuclear submarine, but I've long given up questioning and taken up just being. And I keep thinking about the way you looked under the skylight, and how I'm so uncontainably proud of you.