the candystriper
(do they still call them that?),
smiling broadly at each arrival,
works diligently in off-moments
on her math homework,
which looks like Algebra II;
you have a daughter about her age:
the time when girls' handwriting
is round and plump on each line,
pregnant with possibility,
filling even wide-ruled filler paper,
pulling the blue lines down
with their weight,
and holding half-thoughts
on any given line of script:
not yet shrunken by the heat of life,
not yet compressed, to get it all in,
her words are expansive,
yet short,
made more precious by the knowledge
that they are so fleeting.

February 24, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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