Quarter Life Crisis

She moves like you, you know

When her eyes are busy
She rubs her bare feet together under the blanket 

Like a cricket without its twilight song

She asks questions like you, too

Both big and small

What’s for breakfast? and 

Why do we grow?

She recognizes you in the photos

Old enough now to know that moms have dads, too

And moms feel things, too

And mom’s name isn’t Mom

How I wish you could see us together

See me with her, with two names

She was so small the day she was born
Bird without feathers

A piece of me that is a piece of you