I took my baby to a funeral
Where the dead woman’s son foretold
You’re going to be a movie star
when you grow up.
Already she was like a celebrity
visiting the site of a natural disaster
with the welcome distraction of her smile.
We’re so glad she’s here.
Everyone wanted to touch her.
She upstaged the minister
with her eloquent gabble,
grunting and cawing
at his absurd metaphors.
This life is a mobile home
with a leaky roof and a bucket
to catch the rain.
A natural public speaker,
comfortable among adoring crowds,
she’s well on her way to stardom
I suppose. But just because she loves to dance
do we have to put her on a stage?
I prefer the old woman who bent over her.
I predict you’ll travel around the world someday.
These days everyone’s eager to carve up the world
and present her with their favorite piece:
a slice of celebrity
or plate piled high
As if she’ll become any one thing,
full of science or pianos,
with no room left
for what she used to love.
I hope the world stays
so unknown to her
she meets it again at every turning
and introduces herself appropriately.
Hello, sky. I’m a stargazer.
Little crab, let me crawl the sands with you,
as she scuttles nimbly in all directions.