All Day Long, They Wait

In the post office,
you hold them back
as you read your mother’s letter,
so full of praise, so full
of sweet wishes
that your father
could witness the changes.
And then again
when you almost leave
the dry spot of milk
from the morning
cereal – What if I never see them
again? You wonder. Oh,
these daytime dreams –
leave things as they are
in case everything changes.
But you wipe the milk,
and make the beds,
and arrange the pillows
still smelling of children’s hair
and that is when you see them,
the doe and fawn
by the last of the melting snow,
and she grooms softly
the ears of her child
and finally,
they come.