Granddaughter’s First Picnic

Other children yell, “ baby”

as they run past her, around picnic tables

on their way to adulthood.

Soon, she’ll enter their world of

carelessness and consequence,

but today she nurses on sleep’s

sweet breast through popped balloons

and Zac’s protest against timeout.

She is oblivious to the camera

flashes, the smell of fried chicken.

But when a little girl touches her

with a bunting feather

left behind at Canyon Lake,

that softness stirs her.

Granddaughter Outside After the Rain Stops

Leesha, spindles of sun splashing her hair with light, runs

bare feet tickled by a gauze of freshly washed grass, stops,

scoops gravel with hands soft as ice cream.

She devours this freedom like it’s a final candy-

coated meal. Unfettered by shoes, or car-seat straps,

no adult whisking her from harm.

She runs again, keeps it up like she’s a bright red kite,

ruffling on the wind’s lacy gusts, until she drops

into exhaustion’s arms.