Mineral Point

Whitcomb

Waking, stiff-limbed,
I am the first to see the silhouette
in the murky morning light—
a man
carrying a girl child
limp against his shoulder.
A hoarse cry comes from deep within the woman’s body
as she stumbles to her feet.
I brace myself for the sadness,
dreading what might await me further down the line.
But
the girl lifts her head
and the woman shrieks in surprise.
The three fall in a heap of crying and rocking.
I turn away,
my eyes prickling with tears,
some for the little family
and even more for my own.