my back aches
from picking up scattered toys
no wait
the pain is from holding her
always moving
even perched in my child-worn arms
doesn’t know
yet what life is demanding of her
i am here
to shield the storm as she grows
but soon
too big to be completely protected
so i choose
which part of her is exposed to the rain
and which
is taught lessons not by me
she has curious anger
directed at me for her soaking arm
not arm
but battered emotions i couldn’t, i didn’t cover
Bribunk 