"MY DAUGHTER ASKS FOR A SUGAR CUBE BEFORE BED..." because a horse keeps visiting her at night. Just a single cube, which she cradles in the center of her palm, tiptoeing up the stairs, careful, not letting one bit chip off an edge. Every night it's like this: the soft hands, the undershirt's robe-swish, then weeks later she asks: Where do horses go when they say they can't come back? I never thought there was a gift to be made of nothing, until I became a father and had to give it every day. I'm sorry. I don't know, I say. Extra books at bedtime, extra songs, extra effort to tauten sheets to chin. Lamp off, forehead kiss, shut the door before the Gone come in, creaking floorboards, settling into her chair, soft they neigh into her ear, licking salt from her hands, cheeks, chin, sweet granules from the tangles of her hair. (Todd Dillard)
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Beautiful.