My daughter sits beside me as I write
in my journal. She has just gotten up,
dressed, and brushed her teeth. She wants
to play a game, she says, because
she is bored. But she knows I am writing
and so adds, "after you do that."
She stretches out on the sofa, watching me,
her foot jamming into my thigh.
Her toenails are sharp and need cutting,
but if I ask her she will say "no."
I ask her anyway. She grimaces,
shakes her head and says:
"Do you know you have
the darkest skin in the family?"
and she grins as if to say
that we both know it is she
who will determine
how we'll spend this day.