Day 88 of 100 Poems/100 Days


My daughter,
a girl I kept close,
her arms wrapped around my neck,
and sometimes tied to my chest.

I forget her now,
remember her only as that girl,
not as the woman she’d be,
roaming the streets lost.

She sings the empire’s song,
holding on to my index finger,
tracing my phantom limb,
until I realize she’s already gone.

But in this moment,
she is complete,
a moving polaroid in my head,
her two braids,
her skip-step,
until the dark comes again.


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