her eyes change color when she cries,
they become this amalgamation
of every shade of green
that has ever graced this earth
and some shades I have not seen
before or
since,
I admit,
I am guilty of inducing these fireworks
from time to time,
a reminder of my work

and even though I don’t like spaghetti,
watching her
stand and stir,
sneak a taste,
her hair pulled back,
all that is beauty,
to then offer me a taste
and I think,
this is better than okay,
of course,
I don’t know any better

she has this way of forgetting
which stories she has told me,
I will hear the same one
a dozen times
but each time with the same
fervor as the first,
so,
baby keep on talking


she snores,
cute little songs of sleep,
I know this is why I watch her
to know she is finally at peace,
this is the closest to heaven
they will ever let me get
and so, I breathe her in
knowing,
she has gone through more
than someone her age should,
she has lost more than someone
her age should,
or someone should,
period

I have never told her the
truth
in what I see in her,
the way she looks at him
I have only ever seen that
once before,
the way I know my mother
looked at me
no,
not a lioness protecting her cub
a lioness can be killed
this is the mountains,
sea,
earth
and
fire
at the same time


I have made some mistakes
but every flaw in her is divine,
no, it is not poetry,
it is her,
my finest art