A little boy in the sandbox
watches his fingers disappear
and reappear from beneath the sand.
The little pink shovel
whose color mommy can't ignore
is gripped tightly
in his other fist.
Pigtailed and dressed
in an outfit to match her shovel,
daddy's little princess
buries her foot in the sand.
Her lips are always moving,
but he can never make out
what she's constantly mumbling.
Mommy's eyes meet daddy's
in a silent moment of affixation.
She knows what he's thinking,
he knows what she's thinking.
But neither child will understand
the silent dolor of parents
until they're much older.
All for the best, right, mommy?
Right, daddy?
No comments:
Post a Comment