Whether she knew or not
I had three wishes for her.
The first was to replace
Those opal bones
And birch skin
With dyes from Agrabah,
The colors of queens on falls.
I needed flowers of them,
Ephemeral and unkept
As the breath that cripples her.
The second was to remove that bridge,
Shading her from the cold of winter.
And for her underneath I could send maybe a scarf,
A pad of Western cotton,
Something woven and cared for,
Anything to save her from that city,
Callow and shimmering, caring not for her pith.
The third was to send an angel from Germany,
Steel sheets in the air,
To shine a pale light on her face
And the rags she wears
And the cart that holds her stamps
And the charcoal on her lips
To say, “Here is my child,
“And she has been verklempt
“But she does not show it now.”
I should not be selfish,
But I cannot be foolish.
She did not deserve to choose these for herself.