Morning Drop-Off

She pulls her arms away
from my grabbing hands
and kisses me and smiles
while I scream and arch my back.
She smiles also at the person
who is not my mother,
who uses my hand to return
Mother’s good-bye wave,
who answers my screaming rage
with cheerful chatter
in a room so blue,
red, yellow and purple
with animals on the walls and
not a single empty space
on the floor
to just lie still
and feel the plainness
or listen
to very little sounds
like at home.
The sounds in this place
that is not my home
are never little
and there is no plainness.
But I am very little here.