Light straddles the counter then slides over the chairs. I am undone by the daughter again, the one who has gone under and chosen to eat only what she plucks with her hand. My arms fling imaginary blankets over the land. A line of birds arrows overhead, bound for somewhere other than here. Even when they're hidden from view, I can't forget the way newly planted rice fields look— stalks partly submerged in water, roots feeling for foothold in clay and loam. Isn't the body the same in its need for deep sustenance and air? Each time, I sense a knot tighten in the center of my body. Each time, I feel when the cord is cut.