I used to talk to Dad
as he stretched his legs
forever in the living room
before jogging. It seemed
like he could stretch
all day long. If you do
the math, maybe whole
years were spent just
stretching, pivoting
his upper body slowly
across the plane of his legs.
The three of us were
so ready to love you.
I couldn't sleep at night
imagining you. I thought
you'd look exactly like me,
like another me, same face,
same arms, same hair,
riding in my backpack.
But when you arrived—
my last day of 7th grade,
you were a girl.
You had nothing
like the moon
for hair.