this will make you grow up and away. As I stand at the backdoor, muttering to myself and making last minute changes on an article due the day before, my daughter (hair brushed and decorated with a dozen barrettes) tiptoes to me and lifts my shirt. With her head, she nudges at my belly. “Nibble, nibble, gnaw,” she whispers. “You are my gingerbread house.”
SIXFOLD POETRY SUMMER 2013
Eva Heisler
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