Little girl in a pink parka walks with head
down and arms crossed. Mother on the
phone, giving detailed directions, looking
for a needle in the haystack of the crowd.
Her eyes connect with a faceless pin-point.
An elderly man hobbles over to them, slow
as a July heat wave. He leans in for a hug,
puckering, pointing at his cheek for a kiss.
The girl hesitates, brewing a fit in her forehead.
She does not want to touch or be touched.
Her mother tsk tsk tsks at her. Grandfather
with a hangnail heart. He wants to know why
his tiny ray of pigtailed pink parka’d sunshine
does not want to love him right now. Pouts.
The little girl looks at her mortified mother,
then back at her expectant grandpa. Guilt
trip. Give in. It is today she learns there is a
right and wrong way to show love. It is today
she learns there is a formula; you must only
give love in the same manner you got it.
Humans are obsessed with seeing themselves
in others. Today, she learns her body is
everyone’s business but her own. Her body
is a democracy. Everybody gets a vote.