Daddy, we are girls.
You don’t put your socks on top of the television
while we are watching a rerun of a classical ballet.

Look, there goes the prima, turning and crumpling
like sea foam teasing the shore.
And look how she bends like a flushed pink petal.

And, daddy, look what you’ve done.
with your sock dangling over her face,
all she becomes is a moving piece of skirt.

Montage Vol. 9 • February 2006


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