Mama
Let me tell them a story.
I’ll be the witch,
leaving breadcrumbs,
knowing he’ll follow.
Hoping he’ll bring her.
She’ll say her first word.
mama.
She won’t be talking about you.
He’ll play along,
clever enough to know
pretend houses are better.
You named her after a poem.
I don’t think you know that.
inlandiajournal 