She waited for the perfect age,
When all the edges fell away,
And language came to mean much more
Than angry taunts and lines in sand.
She waited for the smile to grow
Into a subtle arch of peace,
Until the skin had formed and filled,
Until the dresses calmed and flowed.
She waited, as she always did,
And when she moved it made such sense:
Her daughter would begin to learn
The secret silences she’d borne.
And so began her long decline,
And so began her future’s rise.