Coaching

balanced in adolescence or perhaps sauntering blindsided into still unpolished years- the form of a girl grasping for fellowship- pronouncing "insert self here." . The form of woman- Constant in another generation Unaware- What splashes she made shaped ripples that Fashioned waves in some. . The progression of selves were singular- one life Coincidentally molding the next. . Funny, I say, that a mystical motion in which hands, bearing love, unrequited, can tip the fragile off the pedestal sans thought sans look sans touch. . Upon breaking on cold tile Adolescence seemed neon- Howling in one ear Sounds of fury, shame- fervor And whispering in another Directions on normalcy. . Woman made girl And girl to woman On fields- not understanding Who or what Produced fates, Or why we never See angels till after They've passed.