She’s Seven

She’s trying to stick
pomegranate seeds
in spaces
baby teeth left behind

She’s trying to look at
her own eyebrows
by looking up
really hard

She’s silliness embodied
curiosity’s employee
she’ll rescue
flicked creepy-crawlies
with no hope of credit

She’s delicate of heart
we walk on eggshells
her tears never far

She’s making mosaic art
by drawing pieces
of a girl’s face
on three Post-It Notes
an eye on one
an eye on another
a nose and mouth on the third

She’s one part her very own
one part him
one part me
that part made up of
so many pieces
from long ago
pieces that come back
like the memory of
a childhood friend
long-since contacted,
familiar, missed

That was
before I was tired
before I felt inadequate daily
before I wiped pomegranate juice
off the kitchen floor
really hard.