every woman my girl sees is
"mommy":
i am in the club, of course,
but so are
airbrushed magazine heads,
grainy tabloid freaks,
taut TV anchors;

the Olympian on the podium,
the model selling coffee and leisure,
the anorexic child actor,
the American Idol,
mommy,
mommy,
mommy.

this is confusion, of course,
or developmental progress,
but she is increasingly convincing.
how does she know
they will teach her how to dress
and be a woman
how to love herself
whether to dare for something great
from herself;
or not.

so fine, i hereby
call a meeting of
my daughter's mommies:
i did not choose you,
you did not choose her,
but if i have to share the title with you
you'd better be worthy of it.