Isabella

nose buried in Kindle,
a version different than our own,
the words like gold
still the same
as you excitedly spill
Harry’s latest endeavors

you climb like a monkey
over nets, up walls, on mountaintops
and keep small secrets
for fear of losing out

just shy of ten,
you stand past my shoulder now–
i’m afraid of double digits
as you’re buried in books
and beginning to abandon dolls

i suppose
we all must grow–
you in your wild, monkey-like way,
me, in my motherly view of your milestones

Mythili

the center of imaginary play,
instrumental in all
Monster High shenanigans,
the perfect voice-over
of coming of age

the center of language,
you pick up British accents
and repeat back
in perfect translation
all the Castellano words

the center of three girls,
just past eight,
your eyes light up our photos,
connect either sister like glue–
so much more than a middle child

Riona

with your ever-small defiance,
you fight for seats next to me,
won’t give in to open-minded eating,
and still suck your thumb

five months beyond
your six-year mark,
you patiently wait
for your closest friends
(sisters of course)
to guide you through the
maze of Spain

all these years later,
calm as can be,
your ever-small defiance
peaks in surprises,
the small gifts of perfect grades,
an ever-pleasant smile,
and our best example of
unequivocal love