RORY HARRIS

i raise
the mosquito net

off my crying
daughter, & for

awhile we sit
her limply

curled around
me, odour

of sleep
& restfulness

the overhead
fan moves

the humidity
around the room

her tears
turn to sweat

i change
the pillow case

& return
her to bed

seal wet glistening
dreams of tradestore

iceblocks, her third
birthday only hours away