For too long, she wore only black,
as if she wanted the world to see
the charcoal color of her heart,
spewed in hateful words
causing grief at any chance
because she could
pull my strings like a puppet
petrified in fear.
It's one thing to be ignorant,
another to know too many choices,
imagine too many possibilities.
What to do?
Well I did what I did.
Somehow she grew
as rebellion shrunk in equal proportions
making way for womanhood.
Today, my eyes well in admiration.
It's my heroin I see who juggles life
so gracefully, confronting challenges
courageously, loving, doing
being someone I once thought
she'd never be.
I observe her domesticity,
willingly chosen to perform
the most important job of all -
rearing her children, teaching, giving.
Stories of her on-line job,
pictures of the kids,
the skirt she sowed,
the bread she baked.
These are her texts of late.
Still stunned, I reply,
"OMG. Who are you?
Where has my little daughter gone?"
(For Poets United.)