I wrote this about a year ago. It is unfinished,
but I was thinking of it today and decided to share.
My three- year-old daughter learns how to
Pour juice into her cup.
She grasps the too-big bottle
With her miniature hands,
Stretched and wobbly.
I offer to help.
She says, “I do it myself.”
I am learning, too.
I hold my breath as she pours and
The liquid tumbles from the top of the bottle
Down to her small cup on the table
Like the high diver at the circus,
Aiming for the small tub of water.
She doesn’t spill any juice this time.
“I did it,” she squeals.
I am like the high diver, too.
Only she is my target, small and moving.
Even sitting still she is growing
What she needs today
May not be what she needs tomorrow.
Every day I pour myself,
Hoping it is enough.
At night, her room is dark
“Sing me a song,” she pleads.
My pouring is drops as I whisper-sing,
I do not want to spill even one note.