Her copper-colored hair
hung down her back in waves.
Freckles lay like coarsely-ground pepper
across her face and arms. She was beautiful
and my father loved her with his whole heart.
Blond curls framed my baby face.
A chatterbox charmer. Daddy’s little girl.
That made her uneasy. Unloved by her own father,
she’d never learned it was okay
for daddies to love their little girls.
So he withdrew from me.
It didn’t make her feel better.
Jealousy is like that. It’s never enough.
Red drained from her hair and freckles faded.
She could not care for herself so I came.
Dad was dying but she only knew that I was there
and when I was there, so was jealousy.
Maybe if my hair had been red.
Maybe things would have been different.
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