Daughter

Katrina K Guarascio

She swims inside fingerprints,
an idea so distinctly you.

A mirage reflected between the hot streets
and your flattering moonlight.

She is the dancer in my wooden box,
guardian of secrets
whispering her own;
her spin,
seemingly innocent.

I would be lying if I didn’t say
you haunt me from her eyes.
A memory of your water in my desert.
Just an illusion of your fingers
tracing the life line in right palm.

She blends ribbons of perfume through the air
and insists she invented this for our pleasure,
but we both know better.

“Daughter” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).