This night of acrid anxiety
is just as I remember
the brash voices of reprimand
and doing all I could
in my small body
to absorb the shock
of constant disapproval.
Who the hell do I think I am
to dare to find joy
in the face of a stranger?
The axiom of this decision
is as if I must choose
which child I love more.
Equanimity is not an option.
Let me tie a key to the string of this kite
and let her slowly into the approaching storm.
These clouds, grey-green and boiling angry
with flashing temper of revenge.
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