You wake each night from
a new version of the same
dream, sitting up like a line
like an overacted movie
and your feet sink to the floor.
You know she’s safe and yet
you walk quickly to her room
to her bed and you lean
down to feel her breath
unencumbered by layers
of water, her breath on your
face and for the first time you
can breathe too. She is safe.
She is dry. She is unaware
of your panic. You return
to your bed, heartbeat
slowing to a quieter pace
and know that the ritual will
continue on to the next
because you have read
the stories of the children,
of the mothers who know
too well the ripples, the quiet
that follow the day that you rest.
Rebecca Guess Cantor’s poetry has appeared in Mezzo Cammin, Two Words For, The Cresset, and The Lyric, among other publications. Her first chapbook, Running Away, was published last year by Finishing Line Press. Rebecca is the Assistant Provost at Azusa Pacific University and lives in Fullerton, California.