In the Space Between My Sunglasses and Your Independence

Sitting still for a moment
Fixated on doppler radar and
the more lighthearted headlines
you with chin sunken and mouth slightly puckered
showing focus and meditation
Your mother
the saint
Able to clip your fingernails
so that you could continue
to play with my collarbone
without making me wince
The creases in my face
already starting to make me look
Less cool and more fatherly
The parental shellac
A shell that forgives
Only when so cracked and flaked
As to suggest
A new coat
Be smothered on
Immediately
A life lived in parenthesis
and on purpose
The edges of brackets
too sharp for knees that have not been capped just yet
Elbows about as sinister as two cupcakes
But those nails
need to get cut down
As the world is not ready
To deal with something so much like a razor or hornet's tail
--
1.5.11

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