That's what you kept telling me,

Over the noise of Greek Street,

Past the breaking of the clothes horse,

And I remain with trembling lips.



The little girl emerges,

From the Cabbage Patch Kids covers,

But only this time it's dad standing there,

Fixated on the fact that it's his house.



Traveling through time,

A patchwork of places,

Places where I don't belong,

Until the blanket unfolds.



The soiled quilt,

Soiled with tears,

Soiled with snot,

No one offered to wash it away.