eye teeth

Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.

She drew pictures with a sharpie. Circles. Scribbles.
She said words like "doggie" "kitty" "apple" "peepee" "bee"
And when I put her to bed, I held her so close, her little hand cupping my finger. Most nights she stared up at the ceiling fan without a sound, then back to me. I looked at her and understood unconditional love. Why was I chosen to carry such a precious gift, I ask.
***

"Got a letter from the NRA. They want money," he says while tearing up the bill.

She wonders why he even opens them.

Guns were never part of her experience. Not even toy guns. Her father didn't believe in them.

I would feel better if you would take all of your guns to John's and lock them up in his safe," standing by the door, shifting her weight.

"Sure...but after I heard the shots in the neighborhood, I have kept a loaded gun in the house..." still sifting through two days worth of mail that accumulated in the rusty box.

"I mean you have a gun in coat closet..."

"It doesn't work. The damn thing is broken," he blurted, as if being accused of high treason.

"..and what is under the bed? Are those bullets? I mean, it is within reach of little hands. Is it a gun? Is it loaded?"

"Yes, but she can't figure out how to open the box.."

"Oh my God! You have a loaded gun under the bed! Doesn't that bother you? I mean she can call people on a cell phone, I am sure she can figure out how to open a box," her voice was ugly and the words deformed.

He grimaced, "but the cat pee..."

"What? Do you think she cares about cat piss? You have a loaded gun under the bed. Do you know how many people would freak if..."

It was a joke, Cat." She hated it when he called her that.

"Well I don't find it funny at all." She was expecting him to get up and move the piece immediately. He knew this, and so didn't move. He wanted to control this conversation, this situation.

The argument continued until the last word had to be one-uppped.
"So, are you shutting down?"

"Yes, yes I am. You are not listening to me. You say we need to work on communication and you never listen. You don't care. You could give a flying rat's ass. So go and tell Row about all of this. I could give a shit. So I guess you won this one, huh?"

It was the usual. She wanted a tape recorder so as not to miss a single ridiculous sentence. It was laughable. She sat still in the chair, waiting for him to continue to berate. He disappeared upstairs and she heard fumbling in the bedroom. She took another sip of wine and took her place on the couch. She turned off the light and drifted off.