Friday, October 2, 2015

Girl abroad

Think of her like this, a born new creature
not into a religion, or paganism
a mixture set to mold, into becoming
our daughters, you say are something else

before the buckling of the in-flight belts
you give her a list of can and cannot
canned tins to be checked regularly
she cannot tread over the many versions
she wants to become between airport transitions

you let her go, taxi is the way- you say
to avoid all that cannot be part of the list
of forbidden, forgotten- pile them up in threes
it is easier to remember that way

girl abroad, she is filled with wind
with an airy desire toward hand in hand
and smiles, maybe all she needs is a
ride home with the assurance that she can-

in the woods, near autumn she knows
you will say- a big girl who navigates the land
for prophets and scavengers- is able to tell
fox from wolf though she never knew how the dogs look

onto a naked eye- she will know how to step
with all  the men, all those men in suits and in smart dress
prose of meaning and of sex
Shoulders rubbed, old clothes scrubbed white

Sunday's for washing the week's mud-
girl abroad, why do you term her differently
for guardianship, you say
that's all you are able to hold, to let go

girl abroad, like me-
like others is the same as your home girl
except with wider eyes,
except lighter because she knows she can.

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