Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2020  Vol. 19 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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You shove me with your hands
and bicycle me with your feet
and bend your knees to kick me

like a wall
in a pool to shuttle fast
through the water.

You throw your arms in the air
like you’re falling
in a cart on a track

but smiling somehow.
The first time I see you
stir in me

before I know you
as my daughter,
we play with the idea

of an origin. But I won’t turn
to myth. I want to free you
not change you

into a linden tree
or a stone that will always stand
in my garden

or a feather
that escaped the ash.
Your first room

rounds me. Your toes
emboss my skin
in a pattern that disappears

like waves in the sea,
and I can’t follow you there
though there I am.  

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