There are no arms
on the woman in the picture,
the one my daughter
drew and handed to me,
saying, “Mommy, this is you.”
She was so proud, her eyes
so alive, and the green crayon lines
show a woman with long hair,
long legs and a big lopsided smile.
And no arms.
It is not that I mind being elbowless,
but my friend Jack once told me
that children who draw people with no arms
are disempowered, and there
are studies to prove it, he said,
how their lack of agency
lasts into adulthood.
I want to show her, “Here,
darling, here is where the arms go.”
But instead I say, “The green lines
look strong. And her smile
makes me smile.” I kiss her,
and tell her thank you,
and she squeezes me, her two small
arms so strong, I notice, even when
they let me go.