The device from work, 
or the day's grocery 
is usually what slows me down. 
But most often than not I feel its a girl. 
A girl.
It's my little girl who has only learnt to walk and must take one step at a time. 
And I slow down for her. 
I keep my hands steady. I,
 I must hold on to her. 
I must open the door and switch on the lights first. 
She isn't afraid of the dark.
 I am. 
But I must never be afraid with her around. 
She has this habit of sitting on the floor 
and I must keep the floor clean. 
She's not allergic to dust.
 I am. 
My little girl can only twaddle, 
and that's the only sound 
in this cruelly empty house. 
I wish I could talk back to her but