"I'm going to be tall, mom." she says this morning on our walk to the bus stop
"I'm going to be taller than dad. THEN I'm going to be a super model."
Asserted with the self-confidence of a promising future
Like only an eleven year old can muster.
And she spouts poetry off the top of her head
At the dinner table.
Exuberantly, nonchalantly
She doesn't even realize what she's doing.
"I'm really pretty, aren't I mom?" she asked me last night,
Not really needing -or even waiting for- my approving response.
A rhetorical question.
"I could be a model."
And she bursts out in song at the top of her lungs
in the car.
Proudly, all happy-go-lucky,
She can't stop, even when it irks someone else.
"I love you, mom" she whispers to me at night.
She snuggles in closer,
Though her body nearly equals mine in length.
How did this happen, overnight, without my knowing?
Too many memories to trust to my sieve-like mind.
My heart aches,
Bursting full from the excess weight of delight and wonder
And love
2 comments:
You probably already know this, but your daughter is hilarious!
I like your writing here, it's very touching. I have really been into poetry lately, don't even know why!
I always wished I could write like this, but I am perfectly happy to read other people's excellent writing! :)
Rosey
Thanks!
Tonight she told me that she's not "cute" anymore. She's "pretty". I suppose it's kind of true, lol!
I used to belong to this creative mom online group that did haiku Mondays. For some reason I woke up inspired this morning. But will it last?
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