Friday, April 29, 2011


How to speak to her? I knew baby talk, I knew toddler chatter, but this prepubescent language is foreign to me at forty. 42.

I understood one thing, "When can I kiss a boy?" This pain shot down my arm, stroke induced by worry. I feel helplessness before Time and its changes.

No more Chuck E. Cheese, no more three little piggies, no more solace I suppose. If I premember, I would see everything turned out brilliantly. Better than hope could have planned. But this mask of the present is dark and scary and who the hell is Trey Songz?

Beneath the surprises, mood swings and painful questions, is a force of nature. A brain like a sun converting base elements to light. Sometimes it warms, turning winter green. Sometimes it burns the skin. "Not until you're 18."

Didn't want to be a saint, just wanted to be close. Close enough to walk to her. Close enough to understand her, close enough to scare the boys away. Now, I'm just very, very brown, sunburned by my daughter.

Photo: Sennheiser HD 202s taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Blanko Noir)