No two snowflakes are alike,
& she melted in her mother’s arms—
not the designer label she had hoped for,
but the special label
that made her love her even more.
Her orderly little house had been turned
her life inside out,
& she fought to keep up with the tot
she prayed would one day outrun her.
Homeschooling would protect her
from the products of ill conception,
but she could not teach her everything,
& so she had to lead her to the ones who could.
I loved the child that was a part of me,
& equally part of the one I loved.
I loved the child I knew yesterday & today,
but would not be forever.
She is just what I would have chosen,
& yet she was created without conscious thought
the product of an autonomic, biological response
to an act of love,
ignited by whiskey.