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.)