coffee out with maria

why is it that when I see you I cry immediately,

like someone punched in a cash register button in my heart

and the drawer slides open, pouring out vulnerabilities

 – you, oblivious, too young to understand –

I want to ask you how you got this way,

why your eyes are unfocused behind your cute little glasses. that would be rude

but the way you’re eating ice cream with your hands is rude too

so your mother leads your limping hand away,

to wash you clean, the way my mother did.

your parents maybe wonder why

this stranger is watching their child and slowly overflowing with tears?

(she misses her brother.)


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