A day for a day
I’ve made a deal,
not much of a price was paid.
One last family meal together—
Dad’s cheeks rosy,
my mother happy,
a playful pinch from my brother,
my sister’s belly laugh.
“What is your favourite room in the house?”
At 8, I said my room.
I was alone a lot,
and convinced myself I liked it.
But now,
in my late twenties,
I cry myself to sleep.
I’ve traded a day of my life
to relive another.
At 25
inside my 8-year-old body—
how do I answer?
The living room.
Where we lived the most together:
movie nights,
salty French toast,
big games,
rewatching recitals—
eating, laughing,
breathing together.
My chest tightens,
my eyes swell.
My dad rests his hand
on my shoulder.
“Well said, baby.
I like this day too.“
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