"I'm bored. There's nobody to play with. Play with me."
My sweet grumpy seven-year-old plops on my lap
Demanding attention and complaining her world
Is imperfect, somehow, and only I can help.
But my attention is trapped in some bit of work
That seems so important. Even her soft pouts can't
Convince me yet to give up the mind wheel I'm stuck
In. I suggest maybe trying Mama for now.
"Mama's napping!" But I look now and see her eyes.
The boney elbows and the impossible cheeks
Look just like the ones I had forty years ago,
When the world was strange and wouldn't answer my calls.
"Come here, sweet girl." And she wraps my head in bare arms.
We stay like that in one of those quiet moments,
When hormones of equanimity take over,
Breathing slows, and I want to hold her forever.
For three thousand years, I've wanted to hear Sinai's
Voice again—a moment when the sound of every
Bird chirp and rustling breeze speaks my eternity.
And here she is, in my lap, a perfect silence.
Other Posts on This Topic:
Shavuot: The Torah is Your Lover
Pekudei: A Love Letter