Two Daisies
Christine Lintvedt
I watched her silently
as she stood in the kitchen
peering anxiously
through the blinds
watching him park
and jump out of the car,
nervously combing his fingers
through curly spiced hair,
furiously smoothing the kinks from his shirt,
regretting never listening to his mother
nagging him to iron the white wrinkles.
I saw him check his watch with hasty eyes
and run swiftly up the driveway
but not before swinging his arm down
to grab two wild daisies from the yard.
I smiled to myself;
she ran to the door at the sound of the bell,
racing
almost as fast as her young beating heart.
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