A New Phase

“You will share these with me?”
my daughter asks, head tilted
so she can stand under the row of hanging shirts.
The hems of dresses lightly brush her arm.
“Sure,” I sigh. There are worse things
she could be doing.
She has chosen black leather pumps
with three inch heels and pointy toes.

Good choice.

Drag clack drag clack drag clack
she steps gingerly from my closet.
Sure I worry about the over-feminization
of our little girls. But I know a friend
whose mom never let her play Barbies
and she became a high school cheerleader.

There are worse things, I suppose.

Sure, I will share with her,
I have some sympathy for a girl trying
to fill some big shoes.

by britt kaufmann, burnsville