What We Do Matters
It matters not she said.
What we do.
No one cares.
I picked a snail off the sidewalk and hid it in the grass
knowing the four-year-old might smash it.
No one listens, she said.
No one cares.
I don’t matter.
I knew she was fishing, but I was tired of playing this game.
It is a cyclical conversation she has with everyone.
I took her daughter’s hand and we began to skip.
Stacy giggled, delighted.
I try to give her as much joy as I can.
Understanding what living with her mother must be like.
We stopped to make dandelion tiaras.
I brushed her hair and she leaned over and kissed me.
Her mother rolled her eyes. Why can’t you be serious? She asked.
Did she not realize that we were actually doing things that matter.
While all she is doing is talking about the opposite things?
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