morning coffee

the child
with a crayon
pressed hard
in her pink hand, her hair
a tangle
of blonde,
her small blue eyes
against pale skin are
gems in the light
of this morning.
her mother
beside her, not crying,
but anguished,
talking on the phone,
the girl
writing on the table,
her ears open,
her heart
closing.
you finish your coffee
and wander off
to your own life,
calling your
son as you head home.