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Labor Day

In the deep trough of a Brooklyn night

my grandbaby finally sleeps

dead weight

beating heart to beating heart

lulled by a whisper: crimson and clover, over and over, over and over

the skinny cat slips by

an upstairs tenant leaves for work

the fat cat heaves and purrs, hungry for breakfast, hungry for the times before

day breaks

in the next room, my daughter sleeps

I feel her dreaming

golden girl

the sun around which we orbit