Like a ribbon encased in her hair, like a cute little slipper canvases her toes, she smells of pine needles and sugar.
Your eyes break darks to shreds, and disable whites, you disgust the rest of us, but you speak so fondly As if you loved the invisible dimples, and as if you cared enough to see, Her favorite color, friend,
Is pink. Was pink.
Like the clothes she wore from you, like the questions she asked and the footprints she followed. Deep into the forest she sang your name with the clarity of a bell, and a tear rained down her face as you held her with a grip she couldn't comprehend.
But you spelled her favorite letters, and taught her how to breathe words she shouldn't say, As if you loved the dress she wore from Mommy, to the shirts she wore from you, and if you ever concerned yourself enough to see, as if you cared enough to notice her, She was a little girl, and her favorite color, friend, My favorite color, friend,
I imagined a girl writing this for her father, as if bringing it to his attention that he knew nothing about her and now she was beyond his reach.
Very wonderful. Very sad.
A beautiful poem. Your description create a vision of a child with beauty and happiness in her present. I had three daughters. They like pink till I lost control and they wander to their own needs and wants. A very good ending to a outstanding poem. It was a pleasure to read.
Coyote