Mary Kate
Mary Kate
nails polished with chocolate,
dark hair stiff with peanut butter gel,
poses as a child.
Her beloved "gwitter" dress and patent leather shoes
clash with the jeans and and sneakers
of her first-grade companions, yet she is
first to climb the monkey bars,
hurtle down the slide,
dive into the ball pit.
Her face proclaims "imp," "leprechaun."
Freckles prance across the bridge of her nose
like decors atop a creamy vanilla cupcake.
But her winter-ocean eyes and uncertain smile
belie these illusions as I hear her wrestle with an
unforgiving world:
Why do friends move away?
Why did it rain on my birthday?
Why can't we live with Daddy?
But soon the playground beckons,
and she is off, fighting for her childhood.
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