my love is a four year-old
on chocolate milk and cake
running way too much, way too fast,
giving way too much, way too fast.
it has the scrapes and bruises to show for it.
i have tried to put it to bed early,
to sing it lullabies
and read to it stories,
hoping for peace.
but my love goes to preschool,
where they teach it to write poems
and sing nursery rhymes.
in art class,
it spends the hour making paper hearts,
giving each one away and not keeping one to itself.
in music class,
my love learns to sing along with other hearts.
on the report cards,
the teachers write that my love is impatient,
and it raises its hands too much,
wanting to give all the answers,
not afraid of being wrong.
the teachers tell me that math is not my love’s strong suit,
that it mixes up its numbers
and always shares more than what it has.
but they also tell me that my love
gives away all its snacks,
that it is an expert at holding hands,
at looking out for others and making friends.
the teachers tell me not to worry,
that a love like mine is gifted,
that when it is older it will change the world.
i tell them that i worry that my love is too much,
but they tell me that it is just enough.