There was a canoe,/You may teach a man/
to fish, but if he won’t go/
where they swim, he’ll starve.
What would it take to/
be the man with her weekends/
and for forever?
My daughter: Before/
she ran with wolves, she danced with/
salmon, spied turtles.
How awesome to know/
that, in some way, we are all/
broken, but He heals.
He wondered where she’d/
go for fresh lime gelato/
and baked pizza dough?
“What will you do on /She thinks I am in/
the Matrix, but everything/
I’m seeing is real.
It’s such a common thing
among
the sisters of Zion.
So many walls up.
So much fear.
And worry.
And don’ts.
And can’ts.
And shouldn’ts.
As though they think
anyone will think
less of them
for the less
that others do
to them.
As though we
who have been
or could be
there
would ever
deride them
for seeking,
quietly,
for the help
others force them into.
They feel bad
and hide
and suffer
inside,
instead
of letting charity
never fail.
Her butter burger
with cheddar
better
be mo’ betta
than the fajita
that I’ll eat-a.