|Mona Lisa detail|
That stubborn child with her independent streak—
I told her not to climb the tree, the fence, the …
Even when she sits still I can see her mind
still climbing, questing, dancing, dreaming—not
listening. Makes me want to scream. I thought she
was mine. I thought I could train her to survive.
At home alone at night, I let her speak but
she still gives me a stomach ache, an ulcer.
She wants to use four-letter words that could get
me fired. I swallow them as fast as I can.
She leaks out of my eyes. She’s doing it now.
(She made me add a half a foot to each line.)
She thrums her fingers waiting for me to re-
tire. Somehow she knows she keeps me alive.
For my prompt
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