uneasy about abandonment.

it's like a child, sweet but lonely, with salt rivers on the inside.

it's like a child postured territorially around her play things.

oh, and her family too.

oh, and her friends as well.

it's like a child uneasy about abandonment.

it's like a child grabbing and clinging,

all the time seized by, governed by the repetitious stubborn refrain:

mine, mine, mine.

if another child makes advances they will be met by a break in the dam.

let the rivers flow.

it's like a child who, after protecting her possessions from the sticky fingers and passing glances of other children (yes, even glances!), finds out they are not hers to begin with.

and finds that she has been a recepient of great gifts.

ah, but the refrain still murmurs beneath her thankfulness at times.

it's like a child who fights the murmuring and chooses gratitude that does not grab or cling, but holds loosely.