You're My Poem Too

I imagine in the future,

a not so distant one,

a toddler on my hip,

sucking his thumb,

whispering in my ear,

‘Mommy Mommy”

What is it, baby?

“What is that?”

What is what, baby?

He points to the screen.

My computer, baby.

“No silly mommy”

“What’s on the computer?”

You mean those words, baby?

“What does it say, mommy?”

It’s called a poem, baby

“What’s a poem, mommy?”

You know those feelings you get, baby?

“What feelings, Mommy?”

like when you’re a really happy baby.

“What about them, mommy?”

Poetry is about feelings, baby.

“Why, mommy?”

It’s a way to show them, baby.

He stays quiet for a moment,

his eyes fixate on the screen,

then he turns to look at me.

“What feeling is that, mommy?”

It’s love, baby.

“Why, mommy?”

Because it’s about you, baby.

Another pause,

“I’m your poem, mommy?”

Yes, baby.

“You’re my poem too, mommy.”