I'd admire your toes
when you wore flip-flops
because they were long
because they were thin
You'd place your feet up
on the back of chairs
on the backs of desks
toasty brown digits
simian, finger-like,
slender like you
the gymnast, now a mother
all grown up and shit
You'll still be the girl
who wrote poems about
fucking & meatloaf sandwiches, who
drew the Bat Signal on everything.
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