Issac's poem

My first conversation with Isaac: a poem

11 a.m. on May 4, 2006



He was leaning out his window.

I was standing in the yard.

The day was already warm, and we were playing peek-a-boo.

When he was one, the first word I heard him say was baba.

At three, he has begun to talk in earnest.

Today he said:

You come to my house?

And then continued, not waiting for my reply.

We drink tea. You read to me.

You have brown hair like me.

You are wearing yellow like me.

My yellow is brighter.

My eyes are darker.

You live below me.

You live alone.

You have friends.

You talk with your friends.

You eat with your friends.

You kiss your friends.

My backyard.

Tulips.

Sandbox.

Picnic table.

Sit there.

And, I did.

—Ann-Marie Stillion