Sunlight by Lori Yamamoto

before clocks ticked loud the sky kept a hush of blue a small girl stood sunlight poured like warm syrup something settled soft as dust on a doll cheek quiet knew her name and she answered without words houseplants breathed slow while grown-up shoes slept in rows night-light blinked shy a pink primrose on the sill peace tiptoed in curling around her ankles heartbeat steady like a lullaby hummed low small fingers traced the cool glass of the window stars looked back kind she believed they were listening a hand found hers paper-thin and peppermint kiss on the crown tasted of moon and mother she stored the calm in the pocket of her dress it wrinkled sweet later years unfolded loud she lost the map back to that three-year-old room but sometimes late the hush sneaks under the door she writes the tune backward, note by quiet note trying to catch the scent of primrose at dusk longing is gentle a shy cat asking to stay peace still whispers “i’m here, just listen softer”