|Story time at the library|
I pretend to sleep, but through my pretense I grasp
her smile as she attempts a flurry kiss
then bumps my head instead.
We laugh, I pull her into my cuddly bed, into my life
we fuse our fun like crazy glue,
interlocking our hearts.
"Where is thumbkin?"
We play games so serious and important
before she discovers the silliness of life
and that true questions have no answers yet,
but we ask:
Why can't breakfast also nourish fantasy
with food's funny faces laughing at us?
And why should we walk when we can run
with spotted animals that sing about a little girl
who dances to sugary music playing in her head?
And how could baths be just with water
when bubbles can tickle the scent of colors
that pop imagination's borders to limitless ends?
And why should't we kiss like butterflies?
And why do butterflies fly like time
leaving only wisps of themselves behind?
(Submitted to Dverse Poets and Poets United.)
At Dverse Poets, Stu has challenged us to write about "Missing You." I still miss those glorious Saturday mornings when my little (uncoordinated) daughter would wake me up early (much earlier than I would have liked) with her butterfly kisses. These mornings were for play, unlike the typical weekday mornings when we had to rush off to work and pre-school. What sweet memories.