Sunshine
and apple kisses
on the front porch.

Purple-fingered babies
on each lap,
crying and laughing.

No future thinking at this now,
only ruby red grapefruit suns rising passed those fields.

The man of the house—not a man at all.
We shave him in the summer.
He gets real hot.

And when we’ve got four minutes to spare,
I’ll play the family song.
We’d all sing along.

“Put on your jacket. You’ll catch a cold.”
“A cold now is like a kiss from the season.”
The girl just doesn’t listen to reason.
Just like me.

And who knew what she’d grow up to be.
Hopefully a big, aching heart.
It’s the best and worst thing to be.

She could use it.
Everyone could use it.
To be a big bloody vessel,
To travel the seas of life.

I want nothing more for her.

Or maybe a big bright sunflower.
She already brings the sun everywhere she goes.

Maybe she’ll decide
To be the wind,
So she can be everywhere all at once.

Maybe she’ll decide
To be a rock…
connected to the earth beneath her.

I know that she’ll grow.