torn between worlds 

oldest loves her phone, sisters

gives in, goes to bed

she watches their play

with a slightly jealous eye 

fantasy now lost

found only in books

or over a campfire

she joins them in tent 

she still loves camping

sets the table like Mama 

an organized queen

she gives in to catch,

to wood-walking fantasy

(Riona’s a horse)

(but she’s almost me

we share the same shoe size now

her eyes switch places)

if i could capture

her in my womb (my last trip

to the Grand Canyon)

she’d be my baby

in my belly, on my back 

trails, trials of love