NaPoWriMo 24

Masochist

I love it when my daughter
scratches my face,
so excited to hold something:
my eyebrow, an earring, a clump of hair.
She grabs hold of my cheeks
and awkwardly pulls me close,
biting my nose and kissing me
open-mouthed,
her tongue like a fish
swimming in my dark stream.

Comments

Jone said…
You have captured what my graddaughte did to me last summer. What a sweet memory.
Nice one J. reminds me of that Fennelly poem "Once I did kiss her wetly on the mouth" - in which the lines of sensuality and motherhood are twisting together...not sinisterly, but in that way that we all crave to be inside, or take inside, that thing we deeply love. I love your personal twist on that idea, which is in your title: masochist. To me that means knowing you can't really host love in that way, and wanting it and trying for it anyway.
January said…
Thanks Jone!

PWADJ, thanks. I was thinking about Fennelly's poem when I wrote mine. But this one I'd like to expand upon after NaPoWriMo.
Angie said…
So sweet -- lovely ending.

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