The Old Attic

glances
up from the page
glasses clinging on for dear life
off the cliff of her nose

of course,
miscomprehension
lack of comprehension

of course,
teasing and laughter
that suddenly stops
she couldn't actually remember
the words anymore

of course,
a strange longing to become the
Mother
take her little grown up child
by the hand, nice and
tight and
warm

and drag her through a labyrinth
of the castle in the kingdom
of far away words