I see you

You are a four-year old girl.
You are not me
or my little sister
or my mother.
I see you clearly only rarely
too many curtains obscure the view
the curtain of history
the curtains of guilt and shame
the curtain of expectations.
I attempt to contain you
to put you in a clearly labelled box
but you kick your way out.
Then you dance,
and for an instant,
I see you.

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