She stands beside me on her stool
trying to keep balance while stirring
and it takes all her strength.
Strength to move the spoon
to hold the bowl, to knead the dough.
“My birthday pizza mama makes.”
Makes a mess, is what mama thinks.
Until that small arm wraps around my waist
so she can steady her weight.
Wait. Don’t move. I need to breath you in,
Little One, for these small moments are fleeting
Your heart beating away from me.
Me, the one who wraps my arm around you
because really, I’m the one
who is undone.
Undone by your eyes, by your smile, by your smell.
And while I try to absorb that you’re my daughter
I thank Him…whisper ‘She’…