You watch her lithe movements
thin wrists, transparent skin
a modern dancer spinning
away from you
at a quickening pace.
Her laughing so guileless, high;
if you didn’t love her so much,
you would be jealous of her joy.

Her awareness of your presence
fades in and out.
You watch and wait for
her recognition: a look
a peculiar head tilt
anything personal.

She just likes to run in fields,
you explain to yourself.
This woman who you love…
she darts quick with purpose
like a bullet on course
to somewhere predetermined.
(But where?)
So fast, she leaves you steeped
in a breeze of lime verbena
papaya silk and coconut zest.
You remember it from her nightstand
and how the summer wind
would spill in the window
and the curtains would float
over her bed and cover you.

She skips and twirls.
She doesn’t look old.
She bends to collect bouquets
of lavender and lupine
tucking them into her pockets
front and back.

She giggles in the ripe field
of green grasses, tall purple
tickling ankles, fingertips.
She runs away spirited
into the girlness that is her
most formidable heaven.

You almost give up and
let her go into the beyond.
Just as you turn to leave,
she winks at you.
You exhale.
She knows you.
You are still
her daughter.
(c) 2013

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