My Family

I awake from a dream of my old room in Tucson, the cold tile floor, the white walls. In the dream, I lay in my childhood bed, crying, because I knew my parents had left me, and would never return.

Now I lay in the dark, far from Arizona, listening to my wife breathe as she sleeps next to me. She throws an arm across my chest, and though I know that we can't live forever, I am comforted.