You and I, we are not the same
Us and our daughters.
You have yours
A woolly caterpillar curled on your lap
Singing to you about her ladybug friends.
Another, over the fence which splits
Her grass and my gravel.
She has hers
A bright eddy swirling around the sheets
She hangs on the line over the grass.
Me and mine, we are not caterpillars
Curling and swirling.
We are made of moths and tornadoes.
We have had black eyes.
Image: Black Moth, Kazuya Akimoto