she hovers
a helicopter of
impatience
desire
control

while all we can do
(awkward and new)
is stand beneath her blades
our hair stinging
our faces from her wind

closer she hovers
swooping in on a military mission,
a sniper poised,
aimed,
ready.

but i am not ready.
when i feel her
bullet slide through me
and into the soul of my daughter,
i am unable to
push my hair back,
walk away from the wind,
or drown out the sound of
beating blades from my heart.