Diana Der-Hovanessian: DAUGHTER

I was the child who swallowed whole
the sight of showmen eating fire,
flying rabbits on piano wire,
every happy ending told,
sure that straw could spin to gold.




I grew older. Gold spun back to straw.
I learned miracles could lie
only in the beholder’s eye.
Stayed jaded until the day I saw
two eyes fill with my old awe.


This poem appears by kind permission of the author