Wednesday, May 8, 2013

the one where I breathe

My daughter
went with her father
to the eyeglass shop
clinging to my old
the ones I wore
when she was seven months
old, huge, sturdy.

She wants to put
her prescription
in them, will call
them her "art
glasses," wants
them because
they are mine.
Her father
never liked these glasses

on my once narrow
now fat and saggy
but he approved
the purchase
for our girl,
and now
when I see her
in my old glasses,

I'll wonder where her mother
has gone.

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