he lines his cars along the quilt
one red, one blue, one missing a wheel
and nudges them forward in soft little bumps
so they climb the hill of her knees
vroom he whispers
because loud feels wrong in this room
she is still again today
like the mornings and the yesterdays
like the afternoons that stretch too long
with the curtains half-closed
and the light too quiet
he thinks
maybe she is the most tired person in the world
he climbs up beside her
small knees making dents in the mattress
and parks a blue car near her arm
this one’s fast he says
because fast things are good
and good things should help
she looks at it
she tries to smile
it wobbles a little on her face
like it’s learning how to stand
he knows tired
after running too fast
after falling
after crying so hard it shakes out of him
he has seen her cry like that too
so he knows what helps
he slides off the bed
and goes to the kitchen
he climbs back up
more carefully this time
like she might spill and presses a cracker into her hand
i brought you snack
he waits
the cracker waits too
maybe tired people forget how to be hungry
he moves it on the nightstand
where she can find it later
the room feels like when it rains
but if the clouds were inside
he gathers his cars
all of them now
even the broken one
and lines them up across her arm
pick your favorite
her fingers twitch
just a little
just enough
he notices
he keeps going
he tells her stories
about the blue car winning races
about the red car crashing into pillows
about how the broken one
is still the fastest if you believe it
his voice fills the room
in small careful pieces
and her eyes
don’t go somewhere else this time
they find him