Rosy kitchen, my coffee steamy, podcast ready, muffin ingredients gathered.
In waltzes the tiptoe maiden, carrying a stool.
I pause the show, move my mug and sigh.
Giddy helper, spiller of flour, her ready hands slow like a waiting room.
I battle: hand her a tablet or hand her the tablespoon. Distract her and move along or steward love with willing waiting.
Catching a deep thought in my journal.
She enters the room with toy horses, picture books, and a pocketful of questions. “How long ‘til my birthday?” “How did Rumpelstiltskin die? ”
Reluctantly, I put down my pen and she hands me a sorrel mare. “Let’s pretend.”
I battle: savor my solitude or embrace a playful mood. Push away her trusting affection or chase away my own impatience uphill, painted blue, yelling like a Scot.
Deep sleep. Warm sheets.
In come her cold feet. Sudden waking.
Suck air through my teeth. Shrink.
Presumptive, she nestles in.
Then I soften. Soften.
Welcome in, dear. Warm them up here. Toes cup toes. Nose to nose. Haircomb fingers.
Silent nearness.
Rushing nowhere.
Wishing nothing.
Share this sunrise. Give me tomorrow’s too.
Yes. Dump out the puzzle. I’ll sit on the floor, assemble the sky and chat.
Yes. Sing in the bathtub. I’ll sit on the side, dip in my toes and listen.
Hand me a drawing; I’ll keep it.
Hurt a finger; I’ll kiss it.
Bring me a book, I’ll read it.
I’ll do it now. I’ll do it slow. I’ll do it with love and a grin.
