Making Herself

Playing in the dirt
She contents herself
Making mud pies
And playing pretend

Her mother calls
For her to come to dinner
She bounds into the house
Covered in earth
Her small face
Rosy and bright
A laugh from her mother
A chuckle
From her father

Time passes them by
She changes dirt
For paint
Making stories
With her pictures

Her father calls for her,
She walks down the stairs
Her skin still rosy
Under the greens and yellows
That her story left behind

Her mother shakes her head,
Tells her to wash
The daughter looks to her hands
And does as she’s told

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