6 Years Old (Day 16)

(Another day. More NaPoWriMo.)

“He told me he loves me,”

she remarked, matter-of-fact

as an accountant reciting tax law,

“last Wednesday” like an anniversary

as her mother and I choked

on surprise and amusement.

The boy folded a note and

slipped it into her mailbox

for her to find later, a

gesture of clumsy romance

more successful than 

my childhood efforts, 

judging by her giggles at

the mention of his name:

Anthony.

When asked if she responded

I love you, too, she smiled coyly,

“Not yet.  He can wait.”

  

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About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in best-laid plans, family, poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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