Raising The Fifth
Your shadow darkens on the flap of the tent,summoned in nylon and mushroom breath.
A pigtail hangs long on your back, mimicking mine.I want to take your hand, say daughter, daughter.
Repeat daughter, daughter.Say the words until the air becomes you.
Daughter, daughter, I had a namefor you. I gave that name to the dog.
Published in Un(mother) by Growing Poetry, 2021
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