She’s wearing suspenders
Red skinnies, red chucks.
Her hair’s up in a knot.
But she’s not on a runway
Not even at a mall.
She’s collecting firewood.
A father-daughter team.

Her skinny arms lift.
Her red lips laugh
At the thought of what
she must look like.

She stops to adjust her suspenders.
And stares at the dead wildflowers.
They make her happy.

She fills up the back
Of the truck with the wood
Her dad just cut.
Her arms are getting sore.

When the truck is full
She climbs on top.
And sits on the toolbox
Legs outstretched.
She smiles as the wind
Messes up her hair.

She loves who she’s become.