The Little Girl at the Window

Once, you fit beneath my chin,

your tiny arms certain

that I knew everything.

You watched my eyes fill with tears

as I cut an onion.

“Are you sad?

Are you angry?

Are you crying?”

Then you ran to the window,

thought for a while,

and returned with the kind of wisdom

only a child can carry.

“I know…

You’re crying because

you’re hurting the vegetable.”

Even then,

you believed my heart

could not bear another’s pain.

Years have carried us

farther than either of us imagined,

but somewhere inside me,

that little girl still sits

on the windowsill,

reminding me

that love was once so simple

you believed in me,

and I believed in you.

If you ever wonder

where home is,

it is still here,

in the place

where your little arms

once held my neck.