Sunday, February 3, 2008

Mi Alegria Muerde tu Boca Ciruela

(I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth)

What treat I enjoyed, sitting on my front porch wrapped in a thinning afghan, I have emptied the universe to focus completely on the children, playing with intense consideration to their imaginary games.

The young one falls, walks to me for comfort, her stunning blue green eyes become liquid, and she stumbles the words "being mean" and "pulling my hair"

Thats not nice. Tell them absolutely not.

She leans, birdlike, gracefully brute, and yells to her mutual companions "ABSOLUTELY NOT"

My job on the porch is complete, I enter my house, the air feels delicious, a left over aroma of sautéed cabbage and portabella mushrooms.

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