I don’t know why you look
so sad when you let down your hair.
It’s pretty, baby.

Little slits in your skin
on your fingers let me know
that you’re breathing.

Sometimes you just shake your
voice to scare me, I swear.
I haven’t heard you sing
in three days.

You turn your palms up
and I see the purple rivers running
up your little arms
through your translucent skin.

I want to connect each freckle and mole
to show you that you can always
make connections
because I won’t always be there to show you
what things mean.

Eat all your vegetables,
but you can leave the disappointment
and depression I’m sure I’ve passed on.
I’m sorry for that.

I’ll let you throw those into the garbage disposal
or feed them to the dog.