Mother’s Room
custard sheets made or folded
dog hair, an eyelash, Angel perfume
heated harshly you swaddle me from afar
one day you’ll be old and we’ll lay close
a newscaster sings you to sleep
I don’t have to say I’ve had a nightmare
or cry
to come into your lair, yours is ours
mine is yours
only hug me good-bye
a sleep is “I love you”
Grace Biddle is an English major from State College, PA. When she's not writing, Grace enjoys petting cats with long tails, listening to FM radio, and drinking Diet Coke.