Little golden haired girl that skips down wooden stairs, Her pigtails swing in the air as she lands on the sidewalk Where I used to bury acrid smolders of my cigarette sticks And laugh with the rabbit toothed woman who coughed too much. I breathed smoke from her yellow teeth but now the girl, With rosy cheeks and beady eyes jumps over puddles in yellow boots She glances with red cheeks and falls face first into brown muck, To be held up by a man who walks, talks and looks Nothing like me.
In the cold nights of winter the girl, the woman and the man Melt themselves in each otherβs warmth, I stand alone Behind their window rubbing my red chest, Flirt with myself to knock, to go inside and slice the apple pie and slurp the eggnog. My fingers immobile, short fragile icicles But the black beady eyes pierce through pane, A wide smile with missing teeth calls out To hold a gaze through watering eyes. They see her as an old photograph Of the woman who would run her fingers through knots of hair as I cried on her lap. I press frozen hands against the glass, Peer into flickers of those dark gleamy eyes And see the mother and daughter walk on sand with naked feet and me, hand in hand.