You are a tawny ribbon running through
the grass of the latest park where you
kick the ball with fluid motion. You are two
eyes, large as the big cat’s, spotting the open
lane, the quick pass. You are stealth
and silence until paroxysms of teenage
laughter bubble forth and you cannot
remember why you are laughing. You are
mocha hair beside your best friend’s blond
braids flying out in all directions as you stop
a goal. Tonight you are/not the body at the
bottom of a well in the heart of the city.
You are still my almost daughter and my
almost mother’s heart knows no difference
as I cradle your memory and whisper your name
and listen for your voice tearing through the trees.