She's one year, just.
This is what she said,
word for word.
She was talking about her first born,
the small child next to her in the highchair.
She did not comment on my absence:
the last time I had seen her;
that she had seen me.
I am guessing it was about 10 years,
but who's counting?
In between for me were
three moves, three jobs and five girlfriends.
During the same time she had gotten married and now,
a baby. A girl.
She looked happy and owned up to it.
And you, she asked, Are you happy?
The question hung in the air a little,
but I didn't say anything,
just shrugged my shoulders and smiled.
You, she said,
looking away as she wiped her daughters face,
always the talker.