“Maximum Potential Realized”
Such cold clinical jargon
To signal that it’s all over
But the packing of clothes
Making neat piles of chaos,
Closing the doors you never thought
You could budge.

Will they know that three taps means
“I like you”?
Will they understand that sausage
Is what she will eat for breakfast,
Never eggs, or cereal?
Will they see the anger
In cornflower blue eyes
And simply up the meds
Til she is complacent?

A year I spent
The first face she saw each morning,
Drawing her from sleep
Two year old dreams
In a thirteen year old body,
No words—
Just angry honking
When her pride was offended,

She bruised me,
Flung her breakfast at no one in particular,
And I can forgive every scratch, or kick,
While I count up the things
They will never know in her,
Because she has maxed out,
Little girl lost for all time.