Oh, my daughter, who crawled out
Of my womb, you are my cigarette ash.
You are my first period.

To say it plainly, my tiny criminal,
Sometimes you smell like shit
And I don’t know what to do.

You mew like the cat I tied up in string
when I was five and you wiggle like
my fingers in the worm-world of dirt.

Sometimes I wish I sold you on consignment –
Whatever part of you that didn’t sell
I wouldn’t have to pay for.

But then you reach out your porky arms
And I know I’m the only one you have.

I gave you the shit and the ash. I gave
You your first kiss.

02/05/2005

Author's Note: This is in the point of view of one of my old characters from a novel. It is NOT how I feel about children. :)

Posted on 02/05/2005
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