Alternative Lives

Sometimes I think of the apartment
A floor down from me
The place where my daughter 
Spends half of her time, 
The times I can’t see.

And not that I strive
To observe her every move.
Why, she
She is free.

But sometimes I think of how empty
That place is
When she’s gone away with her dad
For a sleepover visit
And I am here or there – thinking about her
From time to time mostly,
The times when my daughter is me,
And who I actually am
Is a blur.