To Ella: What I Wish I Could Tell You

My Dear Ella,
You lead our make-believe time
as we make a blue birthday cake for cow
and scoop chocolate ice cream for rabbit.
The birthday song needs only happy and birthday,
repeated with fervor, sung with heart.

I’ve often wondered if your tripled
twenty-first chromosome holds unique gifts,
including a sixth sense, compassion.
I recall a day before you learned to walk,
when you scooted freestyle along the floor.

A movie on television showed a violent scene,
reminiscent of an old crime,
different victim—me. I gasped.
You climbed into my lap
and blocked my view of terror.

Too young for words, your eyes said
what you could not. Don’t look at the screen.
Look at me.

Then, the past faded into
the beauty of your presence,
a reality lost to those who have not yet seen
more than a slant to your eyes and
delays in your motor skills.

Now, my attention returns to cow,
rabbit, snowman, and dog,
unequal in size, shape, and fabric,
equal in importance.

Today we pretend. The ordinary
opens to show the extraordinary,
above, below, and beyond
the surface of each moment.
My youngest granddaughter,
watching you be you
makes me a better person.

Love,
Grandma