Charla at eleven months
She's the same
and not the same
one day to the next
She recognizes me
and when she looks happy
I recognize the happy look as hers
and I can't help or resist
my own reactions
But the straining of her limits
her need to get out of the chair
to get something done
It's like the brain itself
is teething
Either mind is breaking through
the painful barrier
between self and nonexistence
or thoughts like teeth
are breaking through her forehead
ready to gently chew
the world we're both in