The littlest fellow was a marmoset.
He held the bars and blinked his old man’s eyes.
You said he
knew us and took my arm and set
My fingers
around the bars with coaxing mimicries
Of squeak and
twitter. “Now he thinks you are
Another
marmoset in a cage.” A proud denial
Set you to
laughing, shutting back a question far
Into my mind,
something enormous and final.
The question
was unasked but there is an answer.
Sometimes in
your sleeping face upon the pillow,
I would catch
our own little truant unaware;
He had fled
from our pain and the dark room of our rage,
But I would
snatch him back from yesterday and tomorrow.
You wake, and I
bruise my hand on the living cage.
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