【by Jenna Johnson】

I do not look at her with such delight
I rummage through her secrets with pig-tailed curls
Too alike to touch, we dance with violence in the night

Bows and barrettes, with bobby pins drawn tight
Amidst milky swirls, the passed down pearls
I do not look at her with such delight

But I poke and prod her til her skin turns white
I seek the pieces of her mind to twirl
Too alike to touch, we dance with violence in the night

She is her own, not her child’s mother’s life
She pushes me away in a red-hot hurl
I do not look at her with such delight

I try to speak and sparkle, she says “not quite”
But wearing the same smile and keeping the same note furled
Too alike to touch, we dance with violence in the night

In the air, pink buds anew, and the lights turn on tonight
Suddenly, she is me, I am she, in little baby girls
I do not look at her with such delight
Too alike to touch, we dance with violence in the night