Two years old
she runs ahead of me,
won’t hold my hand,
oblivious to danger.
I have to harness her like a dog.
Let passersby with their obedient children
frown their disapproval.
Four years old,
shopping at Woodwards.
I tell her to stay tight beside me.
I turn around and she is gone.
In a panic I check with the lost and found.
They announce , “A four year old girl is missing.
She has brown hair and eyes and is wearing a red dress.”
Later I find her waiting, crouched at the exit door,
as if nothing had happened
Five years old
She is running down a grassy hill
in her red raincoat,
arms outstretched
letting the steep slope
transport her,
her little legs running faster and faster
trying to catch up to her body
laughing out loud
arms outstretched
daring the wind to lift and carry her
like a bird.
