We Are Children

AIDAN LANZ

We are Children, dancing on white carpets. She fed you turnip soup in dark December, Soft and smooth, like an acorn husk. She carried me to the kitchen sink, and held my hand under the heavy water, Humming away the burn from my curious fingertips.

We are Children. Bringing ears to our shoulders And chins to our knees.

Teddy bears now hold our tears, because her arms are too sultry for our stretched lips.

I see it all unfold, uncontrolled. Sugar cubes in a hot coffee cup.

What will we find entwined in the soul?

A rose wrapped in black Hyde, I suppose, makes the most sense to me.

But we’ll stand still with her in dark December, and guide her as she does us, Because we are her Children, and I know that is Love.