Not sleeping — not really — we wait, iPhones in hand.
Amy is not sleeping on the couch,
waiting for the word from my brother,
who is sitting vigil.
Just after 4 a.m., Keni,
her 2-year-old daughter,
comes up the stairs looking for Mommy.
Amy reaches out her arms. “What’s wrong?”
Keni says my mom’s grandmother name,
and covers her eyes, the way she does when she’s scared.
Amy asks, “Is Ama scared?”
“No. Ama not scared,” Keni says.
The iPhone rings.