At the top of the stairs
I hear myself scold you;
holding you accountable
over the phone for your digression.
I see myself in the mirror
and reflect on the way my mouth
tightens at the edges
and my brow gathers in a stitch
between my eyes.
I am guilty
of wanting your happiness
to flow like easy water;
a cold and deeply clear spring
that quenches your desire.
Like any mother
I want you to do it right
this time.
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