Paper boats

I recognize the spark in her eyes

as she storms into my room

because it's raining outside
and she needs a good paper boat fast
for a stream forming in the yard.
When I was four myself,
my father used to fold me boats.
I would sit beside him spellbound
watching them go,
making up stories about the places
we would see if we could sail them
down our flooded road.

(A workmate brought her 4-year-old to work yesterday and I gained one hour of origami folding, singing and making believe.)

Grandmas

(image from my personal work archive)

After drawing a smiling woman

dressed in brown 

standing on long slim legs

she turns to me

with a question

because she's six

and apparently this

is something she

wasn't supposed to seek

but I'm a teacher

and I must know

everything there is

She raises an eyebrow and asks:

How long

does a grandma last?

To which I reply:

mine lasted up to eighty-eight

but that number will fluctuate

Mine lasted up to forty 

- she says, I guess.

No! Wait! Yes... yes.

Little Miss Red Hair

(image from my personal archive)

I follow Little Miss Red Hair 

around the yard and am visited

by Rousseau's ghost:

if she wants to take off her shoes,

if she wants to eat a a flower or two,

if she wants to chase the dog

among the garden plants,

if she wants to lie on the stairs,

if she wants to play with bugs,

if she finds the charcoal bag,

if she wants to climb the guava tree,

watch for traces of a younger you.

(Written for Herotomost's challenge over at The Imaginary Garden. Corey, I haven't been around much, but I've watched the children in my family play on the same yard I grew up in, I've watched them explore the corners of my little world and touch the magic in it. Your mention of Lewis and Clark reminded me my world got a lot bigger, but it's this yard my heart and mind will always come back to. For the record: the little girl on the photo is my second cousin.)