Episode 21: Thank You Smiles
Hi everyone, I hope you’re doing as well as you can be today. This week’s poem and episode explore parenthood, but in the voice of a toddler who has a new little sibling. Being a parent is a beautiful experience, but it is also exhausting (and equally so at different points while a child grows up). And, perhaps especially when children are very young, it may feel like your physical, mental, emotional, and spirtual work to care for them isn’t quite understood or noticed. This poem seeks to reimagine this, offering a way in which toddlers and infants may communicate how much they love those who care for them during the most vulnerable years of their lives.
I’ll share it with you now:
Littlest little, let me hang onto
the ridge of your feet—
trace your tiny toes.
With a happiness so full and round
I’d usually twinkle with giggles,
but here, perched on the couch—
your baby spoon body
in my cereal bowl lap—
there is so much love in my belly
that I’m afraid to wiggle,
afraid to free it,
as if I can gather & save it up
& share it when you need it most.
Or, because it’s keeping me so warm
I don’t want to let it bloom
into cherry blossom cheeks so soon.
What I mean is,
sometimes no smile means you’ve caught humans
loving the very very most that they can.
And, I wish Mama & Dada knew
that we knew. We see when they don’t smile—
out of breath but not of love—trying to balance
feeding us,
changing us,
watching us,
holding up our heads, hearts, souls
(and eating, maybe,
sleeping, occasionally).
I’ve paused here, with you,
as if I’ve seen us as one
just in two places in time.
Only a few years forward,
I can’t quite speak
the love that I wish to give
or show has been absorbed
into my soft bones
& strawberry jam muscles,
but I (we) can beam at everything
with pink-lady-apple cheeks.
Follow the look in my moonstones,
nestled above sparkly smiles & giggles.
I will scrunch up my knees & elbows—
kicking with the energy of adventure begun
and tasty wonder spun—
so that you know what love is,
so you can copy me
(until I find it annoying in ten years),
so we can share that we feel
what Mama & Dada & others live
into us so kindly, so expansively
(even if we have to phone a friend
who knows the alphabet & how
to spell ‘feel’ all sorts of ways. She
says this is what poems are for).
This is how we’ll paint joy together—
a castle with tower tips
dipped in clouds of Godlike love
for you, me, Mama, and Dada—
where bath time and nap time
are in avocado-shaped tubs & beds
& in all the colours
of sunrise, grass, swings, sand, sea,
tree tents, snow, rainbow hats, bridges,
birds, bumblebees, bright yellow soccer balls,
butterfly pjs, and, of course,
four (maybe more)
of the very bravest real butterflies, too.
Breathe the words in. What do they make you feel or think? How did they connect with your senses? What colours or symbols did you notice? What meaning did you draw? Metaphors? Interpretations? Clarity? Messages?
