I wonder what I’ll say

When she asks me one day.

Was he handsome?

Were you in love?

Was it Daddy?

It’s no, no, no, and I’ll never know 

the wanting glow of a first bow 

who agrees to go slow 

with the parts of me I had yet to grow. 

Maybe I’ll tell her she’s too young for this song unsung 

so she doesn’t see my smile coming undone. 

Maybe I’ll keep burying the burn of the fist-full of fingers 

that pinked and purpled my cheekbones the night of my first time.

Maybe I’ll just make something up. 

Maybe I’ll pray for the right words like my mother taught me to.

I wonder what I’ll say

When she asks me one day.

I wonder if she’ll ever have the chance to ask anything at all.