You lean your small body

closer into mine.

Your shyness

morphs into animation

as you tell me

of the snow sculpture

you made

an icy chair, you say,

sit-able

but not lean-backable.

 

This nine-year-old

facility with words

delights me.

I want to pull you

on to my lap

put my arms around you

hold you close.

But we talk on

of planets, dinosaurs,

where the lady bugs go when the snow falls

before you kiss me on the cheek

and stomp away through the snow

to join your friends

leaving me with a small

hole in my heart.

 

I join the grown ups

in the back yard

where talk there is of

weight loss and joint replacement

a newly acquired cough

the best wine for the money

and

teeing off.

 

© by Nanci Lee Woody.

Used with the author’s permission.