Isabella

While at first reluctant,
you have given in to riding
our connected bicycle,
stating quite simply, in your
I’m-seven-and-overheard-your-conversation
voice, “I want to spend time with you.”
Your keen observations along the route,
of roads previously untraveled,
family sightings, and hill monitoring,
only add to the noticeably stronger
pedal power that you offer.
We beat them home and you are as
proud as a new mother, displaying our
connected contraption with hands
outspread in a beauty queen pose,
our time together warranted by
your everlasting desire to win
(oh how I already know you
will always, always win).

Mythili

We are at the beach.
It may be fake (a river turned into a lake),
but you have managed to discover
seashells in perfect conical shapes
(the ones I searched for in vain at the
real beach when I was your age).
We haven’t even made it to the car
(as usual, your lunch lies abandoned
on the table, limp, unwanted)
and you have entered the imaginary
world that has followed you with penne pasta,
fingers, barrettes, sticks, even earrings
everywhere you go, creating characters
with each shell, telling stories with
frightened-fairy tale plots, holding
complex conversations from snippets
of adult talk that you have captured.
You are immune to the outside world,
to the goings on of swimming or interacting
with your sisters, and have given in to
the world where you imagine yourself to be.

Riona

Nothing can thrill you more than the simplest
pleasures (the tiniest pieces of the bigger picture
that we, emptying our wallets, want to offer you).
Here we stand in the intolerable heat
of a midsummer southern day, and I cannot
snap enough pictures of the grin that exudes
happiness in its purest, rawest form, lighting
up your entire face brighter than the glaring
sun that beats down its midday punishment.
In your hands is the infant rabbit, fur as soft
as the skin on your new cousin’s cheek, that
causes you to abandon interest in all other animals
(doves that coo, clucking chickens,
miniature goats begging for food, ponies
with lofty lips who placidly pick feed from puny palms).
The genuinely gentle creature you hold in your arms,
pulling its nose to your chin, clutching it as if
it is your own child, perfectly encompasses
all that it is (everything you are) that I love about you.