CF
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When I was 5 I learned what real tears were
My dad held my mom, her cheeks beating and tears streaming
As an adolescent I couldn't tell what this fear was for
I am small and handy
I attempt to assist when things get tough
I am not a healer, only a tiny escape
A little medic, round and pressured.
Most of the time I waited,
I rested in a dark bag until I was used.
The sun went down,
but I'm still here.
There's still a tube inside me.
My dinner tray is in the sink.
The whiteboard says my name.
The thermostat reads "55"--
that's something
Each morning, the white sun rises over Jasper Street.
It peeks over the maple trees,
it hides from cloud to cloud,
