Suspect. Culprit.

April 4, 2014

There is no panic
like the panic
of having lost my phone.
I dump my purse, empty coat pockets,
look in places it could not physically be.
Then I sigh.
I stuff my pajamas into my rain boots
and wrap my puffer coat
around the little girl
who earlier today said,
I wish I had a NICE mother.
She wails at being tumbled out of bed
and thrust into the cold night.
We root around the car.
No dice.
It is raining, and soon I will wail too.
Then I spot it,
nestled in the cradle of the car seat,
glinting like my own true love.
It is only when we are both back in bed
that I realize
it is smeared with chocolate.


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