How disarmingly easy
To manipulate at that age.
So eager to please, searching
For approval, signs of affect.
He strokes her hair, decides
To let the foehn wind blow today.


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The no that trips the domino.
Water globes form in his eyes, reflecting
An array of pastel colored ice cream
Crashing down, splintering the illusion
Of a happy family outing.


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Between stuttering phrases silence
Filled with sips of reception champagne,
Our conversation crutches. Absorbing
Bubble upon bubble we learn to walk,
To break the ice, to swim,
Reaching distant shores.


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Father never pulled rabbits from a hat,
Nor coins from an ear. He just flicked
The blanket, covered up
The curled up girl that was me,
Cold and fast asleep.


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He blows the egg
Through a microfissure in its side.
It does not hurt
The unformed life. This is no
Eulogy. Nothing to praise.
All that is left: a shell.


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