Goodnight, my angels.
There are violin strands in my hair
and here, a gloved hand to tuck you in.
Ignore the spiders, they just want
to drive your remote-controlled cars
through dreamwebs. They hit stop signs,
run red lights, leaving doll-fragments
smashed by the pavement.
Kitty-cat sits by the window, moonlight
angry in her eyes. Twitching tail. Claws.
Twist the music box one last time, and close
the ballerina safely in her painted box. Legs
splay. Long lost plastic tiara. Smile.
Sea hush, lulled salt sounds washing
from the pregnant-curved shell. Mother's eyes
watching. Sleep well, my darlings.
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