My Tired Little Artist
markers strewn about
crayons half eaten
as Quinn interrupts this poetic process
by barking at Rainbow Horse
on the TV
with her daddy's eyes she grins devilishly
and she signs baby by swaying her hips
sticky hands pressed on her stomach
wildly nods at me.
and I say, "Yes, sweet girl. You are Mama's baby.
Mama was once an artist too."
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