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

of herself.