Who says little girls can’t wear fairy wings
with super-soakers, silence the tall weeds
with pink galoshes, trap sunlight in their curls
when the sun stays out too late?
“I struck out a lot of times, but I hit it a lot of times, too. You ain’t never played no baseball if you’ve never struck out.”
In 1888, her grandfather was a man holding a pencil
imagining a city in little squiggles and lines. “I’m just
so fortunate to be here,” she says at her windowsill.
The asphalt is honest—both straightens and winds.
With sea-weathered hands
He plays his flute for the rapt
“When you were a teenager, what did you think you wanted to be when you grew up?
“I knew what I wanted to be… A classically trained ballet dancer.”