My Girl Inside

My unborn girl and I
Live within each other‘s spheres
She has carried me first after all.
Out of night’s numinous dream
My mother comes down
Spiral celestial stairs.
“Look what I bring you”
A little girl in tow.
A pink dress with white ruffled borders.
White socks and shiny black shoes.
A little angel.
Death’s confusion settles
Within an expanding ring of dust
How could she bring me my little girl’s soul
And leave her body behind?

I look for my girl
In every face I meet.
More often than not I don’t find her.
But I have. I do.
She is not always
A little girl, though.
She’s swaddled, newborn tight.
She’s a form free teenager,
Or some freshly wedded wife.
Sometimes she’s my age,
And I’ve seen her even older.
She hides
In so many different faces.
It’s one of those games that girls
Like to play with their fathers.

A silent language of our own
That everyone knows
And expects of us.
“Where are you?” I tone.
I see you spinning yourself dizzy;
Arms straight out, head hanging back, hair awhirl.
“I see you!”

I see you within all of life’s range,
Your eyes and mouth
Three circles of discovery,
Three bent lines of rage,
Three purses in pleasure.
I can see you all at once;
Babe, lover, mother.

You are all my daughter.
You would be surprised
At how many of us
Still carry the girl inside.
Just like me.

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