eighteen years finished
with this mask that hides us all
from society
three-thirty a.m.
my oldest’s footsteps. good steps.
intentional steps.
this is not a moon.
this is a lunar eclipse.
(Super-Flower-Blood)
and she’ll be gone soon.
(no early-morning steps).
and i. am. eclipsed.
shadows of loss win
the afternoon shines bright.
(we still have our moon)
vaccines could save us
(yet not from the ignorance
spread without needles)
you will never know
how perfectly blossoms bloom
after a cold spring
sometimes numbers lie
(yet, if you want to trade spots...
you might understand)
my sunflower girl,
her modernist self-portrait
so true to her soul
recent immigrants
cross the sea to wholly see
how corrupt we are
my girl’s accepted
into her dream universe
filled with stardust, hope
words or lack thereof—
too many or not enough
yet never just right
no snow day for us
just the struggle through this path
that is this school year
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