Filling in the Bubble on the Ballot by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

I imagine the small oval

is the center of a flower

that I link through black ink

to the life of my daughter

and her daughter and her daughter

and their bodies and their voices,

and their choices and their power;

it’s a pool I fill with hope,

it's a note in a rising tune,

a pupil widening in the dark,

a moon that I make new.