She knows.

She has her father’s smile. Even,
in pain, her smile is wide.

I peer at her, my gnarled knotted hands have held her curious gaze again and again.
Only a month old,
what a feisty little one.
Like that red bear ball on the couch. Reach for it. Reach for it now. Reach ––––––

and she babbled to it. Huff, puff, huff, puff. She cannot crawl yet. She’s too young. But she’s already been through so much.


Yet, she knows. I know. She looks her questioning eyes into mine. Like her father. Just like her father. She’ll have his grin in a few years. And his drive.


But right now, her curiosity is peaked by me, my knowing glance, and my gnarled hands,
peppered by years of eau de Cologne.

She cracks a smile. She knows.

Ayo. Those who know, know. 23 November 2019. Self portrait. New York City region. ©le_chah_errant

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Francisco Bravo Cabrera says:

    Lovely words Bea…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. beachah says:

      Thank you Francisco..

      Liked by 1 person

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