I have your picture on my headboard, with your skinny
Knees pulled up all into your chest, like you’re scared,
And you’ve got a look on your face that would probably
Make anyone else think there was the smell of
Gasoline — your least favorite — somewhere in the air,
But I’ve seen that face too many times, and I know that
The sun is just glaring in your eyes. I guess this was before
You started wearing sunglasses religiously. I’ve always
Wondered why you didn’t sit in that soft, wooden
Rocking chair right in front of you; I can tell that the
Creamy stucco is hurting your back above the
Turquoise fabric of the tube-top that I never would have expected
To see you wear (the only you I’ve ever met is scared
That her arms are too fat to wear anything sleeveless).
And I keep staring at those knees, in the picture,
In your arms, and in the mirror, every time. I want to ask you
What you were so scared of, that you bypassed
The rocking chair for the cold, hard stucco, and you
Sat down outside, even though the sign above your head
Has read “Open” since I blue painter’s taped you up on my wall.
What was it you saw that made you draw up our knees
To your chest, and squint in the sun? I know it wasn’t
Your arms — they weren’t even half the size that they’ve
Become, over the years, and I doubt that showing off those
Bony shoulders would have bothered anyone so much
That they would have left a pretty little girl like you
Stranded outside of a lonely, 24-hour store
With prickly stucco walls and a broken rocking chair
And not even a pair of sunglasses to keep
The glare out of your familiar, sixteen-year old hazel eyes.
Maybe you were scared of our knees? Maybe you knew,
By that time, that they were skinny, and sometimes
Popped a lot, but definitely more on me, because
Your ankles were always what gave you the most problems.
And what if you’d realized then, that there was no
Getting away, no avoiding them, even for someone
Like me, because they were there, they were
Bony and hard to shave and they were yours
And they were — are — mine too, and I can easily see
How a thought like that might have scared you, back then,
Before you knew what was going to happen,
Before you even dreamed me into conception.
But what I really want to ask you, my dear mother,
Are you still scared? I have your knees.