Wednesday, May 26, 2010

a little more conversation.

less conversate

it’s on a sunday night, one so disguised as summer
a balmy hug of an orlando spring
when the receiver is passed to the two-year-old
she who’s mastered a language
she’s written (though she’s yet to write)
one aptly translated by her mom
(she providing the spoken subtitles)

she wants me to come over to her house
or even her friend alison’s,
and I promise I will from 2,000 miles away,
her mom detailing that happy face
the “o” for a mouth
chubby handclaps
the ones that never make it through the phone

the sentences come without structure,
or periods, much clarity
more bent on sharing
no sense correcting
this triggered enthusiasm

ah, this niece who calls me by my brother’s name
9 times of 10,
this 37-lb wonder who wears the biggest diapers

they looking like french-cut bikini bottoms,
this baby of a girl who absolutely believes I live
with mickey mouse, no reason to believe I’d lie

this girl I know I love and am in love with
and not just in the moment she says “DainonIloveayou,”
another word from her hodgepodge vocabulary
that dialect constructed of feelings
they holding the most importance


Kathleen T said...

It makes me happy to read a celebration of innocence and unselfconscious joy. Also, I hope Mickey Mouse pays his rent on time. I hear he's unreliable.

Laura said...

Lovely. I love that you get to have that with her and that she loves you.

It makes me sad for myself and my own sorry, sour situation.

Cherish it, Mister. I know you do but cherish it more.

Mel said...

So cute. Love it. She is changing so fast--you'd better come see her.