Mother, daughter

　

I cannot be that redheaded child anymore.
I cannot stare at the sky,
and I cannot play games with you anymore.
I cannot sit on your lap,
and ask for old stories anymore.

A scowled expression here, and a flip of the belt there.

A slammed door and a broken tea cup.

A window left open, and Macaroni Thanksgiving art,

Unanswered phone calls, along with knocks at the door; remembering hugs and kisses.

“Mama, you don’t understand.”

I’d believe,

That you’ve said those words more then once years ago.

Protection and excitement, these things do not compromise.

A lack of words between the two of us.

I’m just trying to live a little, I say.

And you’re just trying to catch your breath, you say.

I understand why they say,
these years are so memorable.
A rat in a cage, a snake wrapped in cloth.

Perched doves and folded sheets.

Will our paths still meet at the end?

The anger and so-called misunderstandings

Fire of up the rebel-like actions for this young one.

Reviews

[Akroma]

Lovely phrasing and repetition. A new favorite.

Captures the *essence* of this parent/child connection/conflict. Honesty which resonates with the reader is always welcome.

[violet michelle]

I like this. (: You were a GINGER?!!!