13. Hands
Small hands present me
with
a book,
silent eyes begging that she
be picked up and
read “Hippos Go Berserk”
again.
Large hands clutch
their own book,
escape from the
despair that threatens
to engulf me
when I slow
down
enough to think.
Duty forces acceptance,
the child is lifted
and read
to.
It is a struggle,
performing this
duty
without revealing that,
at the moment,
it is a burden
beyond reckon.
It is a struggle,
and not fair to
the small hands
that lift
Hippos.
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