She woke me up at dawn,
I sat up and looked out the window
A bus ticket in her hand.
Then she brought something black up to her mouth,
I reached under the bed for my menthols
Yes, I said, but always as a tree way up ahead
And I suppose a dead soul must look back at that tree,
except as a memory of rest or water.
Though to believe any of that, I thought,
that she woke me up at all.
This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, “No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.
“You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely ‘pretty’.
Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.