Undressing Vedan

In the light of the television,
you undress Vedan. She is seven and smooth,
half asleep. Your head is turned toward the show
about Elvis but I watch your fingers uncurl
the small buttons from their eyes.

Later, after sex, we pass
Vedan’s room where she sleeps naked, curled against the wall.
We stop in the door to admire her solid unconscious, her small back,
her hands thrown like rocks against the bed. You are her father
so you know how she likes the light to enter her dreams
from the hallway. But I am a woman
and so I close the door behind us.