Ours is an everyday sort of love For now. For now, no trips to Disneyland, no high-profile camps, no particularly deep conversations. I rinse strawberries, heart-shaped, immodestly, splendidly red. I slice quickly through their pulpy flesh, Such a simple thing, hardly requiring effort or thought. I slide the plate between the two of you and in no time it’s nothing but ruddy smears and grins. More strawberries please!! This is how our love goes For now: Strawberries. And in exchange, Car seat songs, Proffered rocks, A single dandelion from a proud little fist, more beautiful than a dozen long-stemmed roses. A hug, a rubbed back, A silent “I love you” at the kitchen table. You’re a great mom. You’re a great kid. No weekend jaunts to Broadway yet, or spas, But snuggling with books before breakfast And a tenderly-wrapped towel after bath time. No big sporting events yet, But running from the mouth of the cul-de-sac to our driveway And playing catch with any accommodating ball. This is how our love goes For now. Yes, you may have some more strawberries.
Running Sunflower 