About politics and religion
I want to talk to her about
What's deep in her soul
Her worries and her wishes
But we talk about work and shopping
And other people.
So we can maintain the pleasantness.
I want to tell my daughters
The depth of the story
That led to their creation.
As I look into her eyes
The same eyes as her father
The words change as they pass my lips
And I cling to the pleasantness.
He loved you.
Know that,
my darling daughter.
His intention
was to give you the best life he could.
He couldn't be the dad
He thought you deserved.
His broken brain told him
it was best for you if he died.
He was broken.
We are
Cracked,
A little chipped.
Scuffed and frayed.
Stained.
But we are NOT broken.
We are primed for gold..
I saw the moment losing him changed you.
I have witnessed a few moments in your life that changed who you are.
As you grow away from me
I don't get to be your witness anymore
And everytime I see you
And talk to you
I want to learn your stories
To learn who you are now
I wonder if my mother feels this way
We are so different in our values
And so alike in our habits
She says things
I wouldn't be friends
with people who say these things
It is a complicated love
Between mother and daughter
It pains me to think of my daughter
feeling that way about me
And so we speak of pleasant things
And I wonder how many generations
have done this delicate dance