Mum is crying because I played
your music, and this was bound to happen
since you left home (although I think
these songs are more like the ones
I used to listen to when I was your age)
but can you imagine the sobbing if she
had seen the kitchen door with
condensation filming the glass
and huge letters spelling ANGEL WINGS -
a ghost of your handwriting from
maybe months before - still there even
after asking you to quit such scribbling
because I had suggested it was
time you’d stopped being a little girl?
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