by John Stone

Hahaha your little girl's
laughsounds like
Sun bleached seashells
Freshly beached and tinkling
Against the tide sands and
One another.
And older, it deepens,
Softens,
Not unpleasant,
Like the wind through
Whitespring dogwood tree blossoms.
Haley, now a young woman
Who can barely
Remember her grandmother's shadow.
You will keep growing,
Swelling, as
All girls do, without answers,
And the men will notice you.
But remember,
I loved you first, young blonde.
I bounced you
On my knee,
A teenage uncle.
And when you leave your house
At night in boycars
I will not see you turn your head back
Smiling, in bloom,
As a woman.
I will think of the bubbles
You blew into the sun.
Up, up, up
Into the dying leaves of summer
In our backyard,
When your hands were
Just so small, and you
Couldn't say my name just right,
And I wanted for
You the world, which was
Slowly being stolen from me.