She’s doing it again.
Looking out at me from her little
picture frame house, all
pink jumper and burgundy dungarees and
I know she’s waiting for me to remember
myself, so I can speak
what needs to be spoken and do
what needs to be done and be
who I came here to be.
She’s too full of joy and hope for me to consider
letting her down. Besides,
I don’t want her looking at me that way
fifty years from now, all crushed dreams
in her burgundy dungarees.
Love and courage,
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