I try to think of things
Like back when I was poetry
And all of this was words and letters
strung together by tears and laughter and pain
and I felt and I felt and I felt,
Everything but better.
Back when the clouds looked like loose leaf paper
and my toes were a pen…
Now they’re dangling out of reach
Because I can’t go back to her, to then.
But with time brought happiness
And took with it pain (and words)
I’m reaching, stretching, pushing –
For what belongs to her.
I’ll catch them if I can
Pull them back to me
Breathe them deep into my soul.
Then I’ll plant them in my daughters heart
and quietly watch them grow.