| The lillies are here again, and it's been three years since I was yours. Did you send them to apologize for Christ's death? Or because my mother was born? My hands and secret temper say I am you. Your eyes are hiding in my face, disguised. I know we were Jews. Your hands and neat cursive turn to claws and chicken scratch. As did your mother's. As will mine. And I'm sad to be without you. You who took my diapers away, my panties hanging on the line. You who made me eat like a lady, me not yet two. Our drives past oranges on their trees, and windmills, to buy lollipops over Californian hills. You loved me then, and I cannot think why not, but why not now, I give too much time to that thought. I can be a lady now, do all that you would ask. I know the fork goes on the left, and not to speak of the dozen sweets gone missing in the night. I can dress how you'd please and keep quiet when I sneeze. And you aren't here. You don't even care to see. Once you came begging my forgiveness, saying you'd been sick, and your knees seemed a joke to me. Nana, ask me again? Please, ask again. |