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My mother calls them magpies—

& somehow the name fits. My daughters with full on beaks
basking & flaunting on their walk/jaunt to school. First day
flitting & flirting in April’s early sunshine. Each step, a float
from bodega to BX36 bus stop. Their arms as wings, hailing

& Miriam, who caws, Morning, in a baritone. So the driver
says, Hey there boss. & they giggle incessant. I’m a boss. No,
I’m a boss. We’re both bosses. Are we bosses? Mom, mom,
mom, mom, mom, mommy, ma, mom, mooom, mama, ma

their voices noisy, non-stop, a collective cacophonous chant
Yes, I say, insistent, persistent on my own. Bird girl bosses, yes.

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