Every Dandelion, Birthday, Shooting Star

Her fingers twining my hair in threes
watching mommy paint her face,
every stroke of color on my nail

Earrings dangling to my neck
Bracelets cascading down my arm
Momma’s train dragging behind me…

My picture-perfect relationship with my mother.
The dreams I have had over and over again.

Every dandelion, birthday, shooting star—
One thing in common…

Wishing.
Hoping.
Willing.

It’s all I want.
It’s all I’ll never have.