A young woman now, you no longer run leaping into my arms after only a day away. But sometimes after a bad dream you still phone just to hear my voice. Between jobs, houses, boyfriends – you arrive needing money the way you once needed hugs; on tap. This time it is a vet bill for the stray kitten whose mewling you tracked for an hour before finding it caught in a thicket, skinny with neglect.
I once walked you through the world, now it is you who point out the moon or a rainbow in high speed text messages. With a steady hand you pour boiling water over raspberry leaves and chat about the design for your latest tattoo. I respect your boundaries, am more selective about crossing over. Your piercings could be straight from the pages of National Geographic. Are we still the same tribe?
tea for two
over twin smiles