Her lovely head carries all the summer gold
And I follow her from room to room
The way one chases sunlight in winter.
She stops at the mirror and looks at us both
Through the sky of her eyes, which we know
Erupts in storms of tears that clear as quickly
As they arrive. She looks deep enough
Into me that I can read her on my own:
“I want you to see what I see,” she says.
The mirror memorizes our faces,
Mine ageing, hers framed by an endless
String of pony tails, pigtails and braids.
She sings the hours into a timelessness
Where she invents the music and the words,
The conversations with the birds
Outside the windows, the flock of quails
Traveling through our garden
On their way who knows where–
In this way inventing me too, so now
I am no longer mother but again a child
Seeing things I did not know to look for.