He asks you about the curve in your hand
you say, it is the amount of toil put out
shaping the bones that shape you
he asks about money,
you turn your head to the direction of light
pray that he forget your answer
you leave him stranded
eggs smashed, not cooked well on a cold day
leave breakfast cold and then refuse to eat
you give him a sand-grain
when he asks you for the sea
make excuses about sunshine and little boys' hair
he doesn't ask, you forward the answer
but I stand to wonder:
why bring children into the world
when you do not want them?
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