Tell me, child.
Tell me true.
Tell me, did you enjoy napping in your father’s arms
patiently swimming in the pace of a three-day weekend?
Tell me, did you find the nap you both took on Sunday
while mom folded laundry and ran errands
as comforting and fulfilling to the soul as he did?
Tell me, young daughter, tell me that the extra day,
when the salaried world reposed in honor of the emperor,
was as influential and addicting to you as it was for him.
Tell me true, little one, that the smiles you offered
so freely upon waking were more than simple habit,
that they were as genuine as sunshine on the westward window.
Tell me, did the laughter you released as mom recorded
you two at play carry all the happiness, all the joy,
all the uncontrollable intoxication on its bright shoulders?
Tell me, sweetness, will it be as difficult a detox
from that laughter for you as it is for your father now,
crowded in the train with strange yet familiar faces,
under that stone slowly grinding away at the memories?