one more canoe ride, just you and me

for Elena, at 10, 07.06.21

She comes to me, wearing her cat pjs and her earnest asking face.
Momma, can we go for one last canoe ride before bed,

just you and me? Please? Sometimes the look behind the eyes
is so urgent it stings: It’s not just the ride she longs for me to say yes to,

but: Do you want to spend time with me? Do you like me?
So we grab our sandals, slip silently out the side door,

run giggling in the feathery dusk, down the worn path to lake’s edge.
Soft scrape of canoe against sand, then slosh and ripple as we slide out

over still skim of water, cabin window glow shrinking behind us.
The sun drifts down, yawning over the water,

and the last light silhouettes her in front of me, rosing her hair,
angle of arms pinning paddle to lake. There they are:

broad shoulders, sharp jawline, profile like her dad’s,
now the long torso and curve of waist, a shadow skimming liminal

between cat pajamas and crop tops, between asking and telling,
between Come with me and I’ll go alone.