Watching little Henry, six, scoop up blueberries
and shovel them into his mouth, possessed.
I’m so glad I brought blueberries—wish my kids
could/would eat them. Cal can’t; Simone won’t.
Henry’s sisters, Lucy & Jane, took turns feeding each
other goldfish crackers and sips of juice.
Arms around each other’s neck and back. Tiny things.
I wish my daughter had a sister like that
and my son a nervous system that let him walk
and munch berries. Sometimes I can’t bear
all the things Cal doesn’t get to do. I want to curse
everything I can’t give him.
Admire/compare/despair—that’s not the most real
feeling I’m feeling, is it? I feel joy in Henry’s joy.