Tuesday, December 2, 2014

1996


I've wrapped a fortune of colored pencils and paper in a box
that she might be so much her own person
and not so much a shadow
I stand aside to let her choose

paths that flicker with risk and potential
this is the same as every year since the day 
she escaped the cord wrapped round her neck 
which was my body's way of saying

I don't want to ever let you go
tonight she wants brownies instead of cake
chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes again
as if to say: yes, yes, but mother, it's just a number



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