Denise, 2005
My daughter looks at me, then quickly away.
What she has seen is too alarming.
I am not who she thought I was.
Immutable Mom, the hush-er, jailer,
”No you can’t,” oppressor of youthful inclinations,
is fading from view.
What she is seeing in those sideways glances
is a person not unlike herself:
A person who lived before she was born;
A person who has thoughts that are not about her;
A person who, (unimaginable) was once as young as she.
Her 25-year old vision is refocusing slowly.
She will soon see me as only the woman in front of her
in the line of succession that began with Eve.
I was a daughter once, too.