I am the Lucky One

Down by the lake, in your three year old rock kitchen,

you made me breakfast; scrambled eggs, toast, sausage.
We both cup hot coffee in our hands,
taking imaginary sips.
I am the lucky one.

Hide and seek with the spiders, bread for ducks.
We watch the lapping water,
unnoticed, from between our crevassed hiding places,
while others pass quickly by on their way to "real" jobs.
I am the lucky one.

Autumn, the time of your birth, reminds me,

"This day shall not be your burden, but your delight."

I don't know where I'm going

or where I'll be when you're grown, but right now,

I am the lucky one.

We go to the city; stop for a treat...chips and slurpies.

Mine go down quickly, thoughtlessly,

while I delight in your company.

Salty fingers and red mouth, you're in no hurry.

Shoppers smile at your good-natured ways.

I am the lucky one.

A day of errands, I need a book.
No one notices, amused, as I do,
how you sit in the window ledge, warmed by the sun
among much older readers in the bookseller's shop.
Your face holds the same serious expression as theirs
while you read a ghostly tale, upside down.
I am the lucky one.

Errands finished, we're back outside.

Silently, we bend forward.

Watching the birds among the rose bushes,

you learn about rose hips, thorns,

and bird's preferences for crumbs

rather than bagel chunks.

Hurried passersby pause, your joy in the ordinary,

contagious, as you balance on stone benches.

I am the lucky one.

The day is done. I tiptoe to your room.

Tucking you in, I kiss your sleeping face
and whisper thanks for the day.
To my own bed I trod, feeling gratitude to God
and wondering why
I am the lucky one.

by Michelle Tobin