My daughter is cutting people out
Of yesterday’s newspaper: legs, arms,
Snip, snip, snip. The heads
Are difficult, around and around, and she tries
Not to cut into the neck
On the far side. Each person
Is a different shape and size. Soon
They will have clothing and faces
And expressions, inner lives that they try
To keep concealed at inconvenient moments.
Some will be happy. Some,
Not. My daughter will tape them
Up on her bedroom wall
And there, beneath their crayon clothes
And faces, is the newsprint, the words
That tell stories of human ambition
And kindness and grief and success, as though
The words themselves are our very flesh.