Karma

When I tie my hair the right way
I feel different like someone with pink soles that pad,
pad pad pad people use that word for girls in books
to make them seem like cats. I have friends that
make me feel that way too. We go for coffee and
in those minutes I feel like a superstar. I feel golden,
and loved in a warm and wordless way.
People come to see me.
What else do I need but warm drinks and
people to love my daughter with me,
to laugh at her when I do or
endure her mucky hands because they’re
reaching for us. With only a slight grimace.
When I tell you you’re beautiful I don’t just mean your face,
I mean the places you go for me, with me,
the hugs, the distractions, the secret places.
Asking me for help or inspiration, wanting me
as I am, nothing more.
I am so proud of you. I watch you
grow, work hard, put up with people that don’t
appreciate you and you smile,
with your cheek turned 90 degrees and
sass to spare. You made me re think
my opinion on religion. Me, she who is always right.
I want you both there for as long as we are.
I am proud, and humbled, and just wow at us.
Who could have foresaw
such good luck.

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