I know Seven will be good,
but could we please say I’m Six
for just a while longer?
Baby girl with a stack of gifts
wrapped in silver and pink and daisies;
it’s a rainy day but we remember
that April showers bring May flowers,
plus, she’s not really a baby anymore.
No more babies in this house.
It’s like a dream, this birthday day:
the sun streams in, then hides again.
The cat swarms in wrapping paper
inspiring giggle and meow cascades.
Dada hauls the dollhouse downstairs,
sets it up in the middle of the kitchen
so all the new flower-festooned ponies,
princesses, knights, and riding-girls
can have a new home in the thick of it.
Mama snaps photos, bakes a chocolate cake,
leans back on a counter, sips coffee
from her favorite chipped earthen mug.
Can’t believe her good fortune, still.
This is the Best Day Ever,
and Dada told me that seven is lucky.
So I’m ready to be Seven.