“Lesson”
She says she cannot draw,
her fingers sticky with paint
and attempt.
‘All I want is a angel.’
Little girl hair matted sweaty
to her ever serious brow.
Not one for contradiction,
I do not tell her the
angel is apparent
already—sitting at her table—
blue smears and dabs of yellow
on the bright white page.
Together we draw them,
three triangles and the one
circle above it all.
‘I see her,’ she beams, ‘the angel is here.’
Light pouring from us both
as I, too, discover her.
good way to spend the summer… love it.