first grade: walking home the long

way because along that way are new

daffodils. Today we’ll play

at your house. Deep

in your maple shade, we eat Oreos

and fondle plump pink valentines

on feathery stalks. (Your mother

calls those flowers bleeding

hearts, but they don’t.)

We talk of fairies: are there

any? You think not.

Your baby brother wants

your lap, and hits me on the head

with his new garden trowel.

I cry. You kiss

the hurt spot, make better.

© by Diane Lee Moomey.
Used with the author’s permission.