The Trail By Abigale Louise LeCavalier

There was a sticky train
of sweet apple sauce,
starting in the kitchen
and making craters down the hallway;
not so clean,
this getaway.

Smeared under the door
as it was opened
and again closed.

Trailed across the newly polished
hardwood floor.

The fruit ended at his bed,
a dirty spoon in his hand still.

And I wiped off his face,
and I kissed his forehead.


Watching him smile
even as he slept.

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