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Patience the downy-haired child sits on the wooden bench on the front porch legs dangling, feet rocking in anticipation bag packed with a month's worth of expectation small stuffed dog clutched tightly by the girl smaller than others her age the mother wonders how long she should wait peering through the window before disappointing her daughter her eyes shining pools of love which soon will run cold when the word father means even less than Santa Claus how many fireworks displays of apologies will it take for a childlike trust to be regained? |
Additional Notes:
the downy-haired child is me, it is what my name, Jillian translates to and hence is a reoccuring character in my writing.
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