Bobbi toddles from the bed
to the closet to the bathroom to
the end table to the dresser
to the bed again, red-eyed
from sobbing. “Mom, please,”
I kiss her head, coaxing
the dead to stop living, “you
have my consent, if you need
it.” Then she hugs me even
tighter, saying nothing, and
she rubs my back, small circles,
no endings, no beginnings.