upon her fourteenth birthday

the soft yellow glare of half-moon
cradles your face in angels breath
i say,"yes

I remember. It was four twenty am
and you were covered in slime."

"But you loved me,"
you ask sincerely. I respond
in kind,

i say, "yes
I remember. I loved you instantly
and you squeaked.

It was like music, and i turned off
the light and laid there in
the first rays of sunlight crying."

"You cried," you ask
sincerely I respond

I say, "yes
I remember, I cried like dew
on parched summer grass."

"It was cold though,"
you don't remember but say
it loud and emphatically

I say, "yes
I remember how cold it was
and how everyone wore hoodies

but we didn't call them hoodies
I say.

"Yes, I know daddy,"
you think but you don't
i smile

I say, "Yes
I'm sure you do."

I"m sure you don't
but I say, "Yes.
we just just called them sweatshirts."