Why didn’t you follow me into the streets of Bushwick?
Imagine a world where the cab didn’t pause to pick me up
I count each of my love’s perimenopausal baby hairs
Undo the zipper emblazoned across my daughter’s heart
It’s a habit, a panic, a brilliant twig that keeps us together
Nothing more tender than the single tie-dyed sock
She discards everyday on the staircase
The sound of pages turning under the covers
A novel in verse that made me cry—
The Yarra River, cornflakes in my pocket
The arrogance of freezing rain in June
I didn’t need love language when I had street smarts
Even rosary beads leave calluses in their wake
Now I can never stop waving goodbye
As one parent to another this gives me all the FEELS
Nothing more tender than the single tie-dyed sock
She discards everyday on the staircase
The sound of pages turning under the covers
whew love this one down !
This is so incredibly tender with street smarts. Love it. That sock though omg.