Bee.
On tiptoes
And reaching for my glass
Little girl, you’ve already mastered the wind
And I wonder what will happen when it catches you
And carries you to the strange places I went when I was small
I thought those places were gone until I looked at the side of your face
Against the sun
Hands
Tiny fingers
Stretch out and reach
For my face and instinctively I wince
Because I have never been touched by anything pure
And perfect so I merely sit still and smile and let you pull the eyelashes
That once were wet with the fear of your perfection, your eventual arrival
Into the sun
Toes
Find ways
To dig into the sand
Without knowing what they’re doing
I watched yours and called them piggies and laughed
While you looked at me and, recognizing something, climbed me
And stayed for a silent moment on my leg and just let yourself breathe
Sunlight
I’ve given up testing words for you and have settled on sun.
