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Sweet Summer Child

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Sweet summer child,
with your weightless green dress,
you reflect the sun’s joy
as your tiny bare feet
cuff the meadow’s grass.

You pick a dandelion.
You ask, “Isn’t it pretty, Mommy?”
I say it is.
I run my fingers through your soft hair,
gold in the sun like mine.

In the warm air, you tell me:
“The sun made it so pretty
for the world.
The sun made it pretty
like it made all of us.”

And in my head
the traffic-jammed cars and trucks
the lunch plans, and the meeting times
are pushed aside for two seconds
as I consider your wisdom.

These two seconds
are what I need.
I’ve always needed them.
Now I know to take a breath
and relax
in life’s vivid beauty.

I don’t know how,
but you know so much more than I do.
And at this moment—
the beginning of many—
I see you as my teacher.


Zaji Cox © 2012



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