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Hello Daughter

A poem of recognition

Clouds rearrange themselves
like fingerpaint ink blots:
a ballerina chicken doing the splits,
a hot dog waving goodbye.
Her dreams are spun sugar,
changing faster than mine,
rising into towers of thunderheads
and potential energy. Her day is a light year,
and she can fit a galaxy in each one.
How many earth-planets
do they say are out there? A hundred million
possibilities to reach the…



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Skye Nicholson

Woman, mom, teacher, writer, unicorn-lover, tree-hugger, magic-seeker, fox spirit, crier, human. Writing about life: my years of drinking and my awakening.