Poetry

Thirteen

I had a different vision for us.
The letters I wrote to you in
your early years would confirm that.
Some of them still exist somewhere,
probably in a box downstairs
near the water heater.
I thought we would remain close.
I think you did too.
I thought the truth would be different.

But here it is my dear:
you scare me.
Maybe it’s because I often see your father
looking back at me.  
Those blue eyes like the ocean,
too open to be trusted,
too vast to be understood.  

Often you just stand there
eyeing me like he did,
always as if I’ve done
some intentional wrong
and you are waiting for an apology
that will never come.

I will not apologize for
loving you or for
making so many mistakes.
You have grown into
something beautiful
in spite of them.

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