I look out at the huge grey world and silently cry.
My daughter comes in and pauses in the shadow.
I imagine she is wondering why Mumma is crying for no reason again,
But when I look at her
She is only a little girl, looking down,
Wondering if her hands are clean.
Jennie Robertson is mother to two small children, writing out of her New Hampshire home or while on the road with her handsome submarine-fixing husband. While writing this short biographical statement, an earnest four-year-old, now in “outer space,” interrupted several times to inquire at the “police station,” ie Jennie’s desk. And so it goes…