Moon woman with a rucksack of air
is not afraid. She sees through the black
hole of her mask and holds up a starfish
for the camera. Here, too, is a time
of stars. They’re stringed across
the school gym, blocking views,
so from my seat, my daughter’s head
is a pink star as she graduates
from Larson Elementary.
She’s thirteen. High school
in September. Everything about it
terrifies me — the bus, the dark
streets at nights, the lusty
entitled boys, the girls cutting.
When she was small, I’d have this dream:
winter on a long, sandy beach.
She’d run to the water, wild, and excited
Moon woman with a rucksack of air
is not afraid. She sees through the black
hole of her mask and holds up a starfish
for the camera. Here, too, is a time
of stars. They’re stringed across
the school gym, blocking views,
so from my seat, my daughter’s head
is a pink star as she graduates
from Larson Elementary.
She’s thirteen. High school
in September. Everything about it
terrifies me — the bus, the dark
streets at nights, the lusty
entitled boys, the girls cutting.
When she was small, I’d have this dream:
winter on a long, sandy beach.
She’d run to the water, wild, and excited
but just out of reach. The wind
would pick up. The waves would grow
taller, fiercer. I’d wake up just before
the swallow. I want my daughter
to grow tall, like Simone in the crow’s nest
of Calypso. I want her to pawn jewels
for fuel to explore the seas.
When waves threaten to swallow