Where is yesterday?
He is young, he is small, he wishes the world had more secrets
so the world supplies them all.

When is tomorrow?
He continues; I stifle laughter through smiles as I haven’t answered his first question,
yet he has already paraded forward.

How big is the sky?
I tell him it’s infinite, that it’s as deeply blue as the sea is deep,
and that, any day of the week, he could wish to soar through it-...

Can I make my wishes come true?
I pause, for I want to say yes, want to see his eyes light up like fireworks, want to feel his joy,
but for this, I must say no.

… Can you answer all of my questions?
He is curious, careful, cautiously dancing around the idea that I don’t know it all;
I eventually find my way to say, “No, but one day you will answer them all."

When did numbers lose meaning?
When fifty-thousand started feeling small and
two million start feeling just right-
when one million is just the start and
infinity is the cusp of the end
the rim of a glass
too deep to drink yourself out of.

When did 10 feel small?
When we’re told at age 9 that
there’s numbers far greater than just “ten”
one-hundred, one-thousand, one hundred thousand,
the list goes on and on
so maybe that’s why 10 feels
wrong.

When did numbers lose meaning?
Perhaps it was the moment
when we grow past single digits
learn of the world and its numbers;
crunched under the weight of
a billion numbered souls.