Sometimes I dream. I dream of the future, and I can see,
a handful of crayons with mismatched socks coming towards me,
not quite balanced, she trips over the corner of the carpet.
She's fine, of course, but she lifts her little wings,
and she cries for her mommy. I hold her in my arms -
she's always save with me. Kissing each of her tears,
before setting her free. She hands me a brilliant drawing,
as her tiny legs carry her away.
Quietly I sit, mesmerized by a piece of paper,
so simple, yet so beautiful. So imaginative,
the handful of crayons is, and so flawless.
A spectacular drawing, for a mismatched pair of socks,
but I am rendered speechless by something else -
her writing. Letters not entirely formed,
since the alphabet is still a mystery,
but daintily written by her innocent hand,
are two words -
I reach for my phone, dialing a number
stored in my heart. Wiping my eyes
as the phone begins to ring. Waiting.
On the other end, she picks up her phone,
and with hearing weakened by time, she says,
"Sorry I took so long, Princess, I didn't hear it ring."
I smile to myself, and laugh quietly,
telling her why I've called.
"She wrote Mommy, today,
on a picture she gave to me.
It's her milestone, I know,
but I cannot help thinking of my own."
I wipe my eyes again,
while on the other end, she takes out a drawing,
from many years before,
and she says, "You gave it to me one incredible day,
a drawing of us holding hands. A few flowers, too."
She pauses, wiping her own eyes,
and she begins again, "You wrote-"
But I interrupt her and say,
"I love you, Mommy."