I want to do what the kids call, calling you out. But, if I do it, I will lose you, and some version of you is better than no version of you, so I don’t.

I want to unravel your twistings, but when I try, your sprintaway catches me out by the feet, and I am looking up at you, bees curiousing around my soft middle where I made you, and me just trying to shake you off, to stand and try another day.

I want to want to know who you really are, not who you have masked on for me. I want to be brave enough to want that enough to spoon out my mom eyes, so I can see you.

I want to be strong enough to live through what happens when I see you, and invite you into the truth, and you let me go.