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