She is all firecracker mouth and luck.
Little warrior, good love,

fears nothing.

She is a backyard of light. Honest lamb,
let me drape this towel

on your shoulders,

friend. Slam the screen door behind you.
The storm will not follow you back inside

unless you ask her.

There are paper plate leftovers,
extra blankets and we saved

a place for you, here.

Child, I hear the fork in your throat.
I see the poem in the pit of your gut,

the prayer in your voice.