You built me, years ago
And in a fit of tears what began as a question, an act of creation and letting go
became a
celebration of the unknown.

I was born from an idle whistle,
as the doe walked by the picture window,
as the kettle screamed
imagined rhymes and futures drifted on by her,
like knees knocking on the swing set, hair that stands straight out, cheeks flushed in the rain.

Now we sit at the kitchen table
like it's the simplest act in the world,
to love
to have given life