To the Child Who Asks
by Sally Thomas
Am I your favorite? you want to know.
And I say yes: As every breath I take’s
My favorite breath. If, say, you’re eight, that makes
You my favorite eight-year-old. Ditto
Ten, nine, seven, six, five, yada, zero.
You were my favorite series of summer earthquakes,
My favorite live-weight centered on the cervix,
My favorite sight unseen that year. And so
You are my favorite child right now, because
You stand before me, asking that my heart
Declare, You first, you always. And it’s true.
It works this way. Love’s strange, elastic laws
Grant each child its undiluted part,
And that, my love, is what I offer you.
from Dappled Things
In honor of my favorite newly-minted six-year-old. Happy birthday, Sophia. You are most definitely my favorite birthday girl. My favorite dimpled smile and my favorite wide-eyed wondering lover of rhymes and words.
The picture doesn’t particularly go with the poem, but it’s a favorite of mine and, well, I just wanted it. I sort of see Sophie in the girl telling the story, she has that kind of dramatic flair.