One Anxious Mother

One,
two,
three in the morning.
My heavy responsibility
barely weighs thirty pounds.
A resilient little girl
in pink leggings and dirt,
one little life
so fragile.
My stomach drops —
I can’t always protect her.
That sinking feeling
digs deeper in the middle of the night.
Nightmares of how I can lose her
on replay —
She’s drowning
and I can’t reach her.
She falls
and I’m too far away.
My worries
are a constant undercurrent.
There’s no escape.
She’s sleeping safe and sound —
I should be, too.