I waited for the nights when I alone would bask in her attention.
When salmon p. wiggle would be simmering on the stove,
and I would search for peas, sifting through pink cream.
Sipping milk from a frosted glass, I was careful not to spill -
these were special nights.

She would run the bath, bubbling to the top,
pulling the snowflake glass along its runner.
I would lift my leg over the high rim
and submerge my goose-bumped body into the foamy water.

Wrapped in a plush lavender towel, she would pat me down
before settling me into a room of my choice.
Would the night be brown or blue?

Tucked into the azure flowered room,
I waited wide-eyed for the baby bird to find its mother
between the crisp pages of a book.
Safely back in his nest, she tucked the top sheet close,
kissed my forehead goodnight
and turned out to light.