She curls her knees against her broken heart
as streaks of black deception stain her shirt.
Her tears distill her sadness to an art
of fresh, un-laundered pain and brightened hurt.
She knows the words by heart of one sweet song
which fills her aspirations. The refrain
is muffled by her shirt. It all went wrong
when Candace tried to sing that song again.
Her little boy sits quietly beside
his broken mommy, gently strokes her hair.
With tenderness he manages to slide
his hand into her hand. She is aware
of comfort in a voice that sounds like his:
“I want to be your happiness,” he says.