Why, when I see her
Do I remember all that she was not?
She loved me enough to trust I knew…..
Where those secret girl supplies were,
To be nursemaid of the world,
To care for others unflinchingly,
Without burdens of my own.
Of course I knew they were under the sink
Words were redundant, frivolous. She raised me not to bat an eye
At bloodshed, or crime-filled neighborhoods, or stick-shifts or the poor,
Or belly aches that would rupture and burst her vision
Of me, as tough, or having a heartbeat at all.
They called me accident prone
I called me a beacon of humanity
A “me”….placed upon this earth to slow her down.
I’m still waiting to be something more
to her, than a reflection