Daughter Encore

 

You would never

want to be so seen

mouth open

eyes that can’t.

 

When you hear

my voice

your fingers, feet, fascial muscles

flutter.

You fight it.

 

I wait to feel something.

 

I’ve never been able to

sit for long

between happenings

 

that restless hush

after lights down and before

 

performers arrive on stage.

 

Your every grimace is a thrill

as if what we have gathered for is about to happen

 

then

 

doesn’t.

 

I hate to say it

this way

 

or do I?

 

Listen: I love you for

 

your late-life sweetness,

refusing to be embarrassed by spilled coffee or diapers,

and the way you confused your second wife with my mother,

 

making me

 

your daughter twice.