A lawn lounge with novel narcissism:
I, a page turner, a real read:
Spring, back then.
Now: snow cones, strollers, sticky kissing
Already three bodies additional
My own getting lost in the gaze.
Not my own any longer.
Was this what you saw,
Twenty plus years back and beyond?
A fluffy fuchsia flower—the bud and me.
Gaze flits outside the lens,
“Hold still, look here, at me”.
Look at me.
Did you know, I would grow, to have
What is it like to see eye to eye,
With a child now, once but knee-high.
Is it worth the toddling tumble and flow,
Long afternoons—r est—a “no show”?
Then, captured: softness floats
To the top of your heart and totes
A longing along, a quick query:
“Time, away with your ticks, here are we.”
*dedicated to my dad, first given through the mail, delivered by a live postman.