Without Looking

Across the kitchen table her dyed black hair shines over my natural red

 She does not see the light in my eyes, looking down

 Forgetting the un-done dishes,

 the cell phone arguments at midnight

I feel the old, familiar thumping of similar hearts

 She doesn’t know, I don’t say 

Washed clean are the ragged wounds of teen nights

 Sleepless and pacing then with imagination on fire

 Jolting me from routine, snagging my medicated passages

 I remember holding her up to see the monkeys at the zoo

 Her little body like the melted butter of love

 Dropping her off at school and watching her

 coltish strides away from me Away from me it has been for years now

 She drives away now from the sunken hull of my youth

 Down the hills to a world I will never know

 I ache for the smell of stale quesadillas, 

the wadded paper lunch bag thrown in my back seat

 I pass her money and muttered complaints

 She ignores almost all of it 

I hardly notice her thankful eyes, looking down

 That little calf look that endures

 Our cats are the bridge of what is left of our days together

 When we drove over the hills to Ventura 

Calling out the Christmas lights and laughing.