Favorite | a poem
Sometimes my daughter says This is the best day ever
And two hours later when she scrapes her leg it is the worst day ever
When I tell my husband later, we laugh at the pendulum of her emotions
Because we both know one day can’t be both best and worst.
But then I am in the ocean with my son
The sun is warm on my shoulders and the cool water soothes my bones
It is too deep for him, so he holds onto my arm as we float over the larger waves
This is my favorite place to be, I say to him
Out here, with you, in the ocean, today.
As soon as I say it I feel a pang of guilt
Because this is not my only favorite place
And I wonder if I have lied to him?
I have other favorite places, of course, and other favorite people.
Then I think about how my daughter will not be making a list of best days and worst days
She is always just trying to tell me the sum of what she feels right then.
I feel joy so rarely, I want to welcome it when it comes,
So when I notice it, I will say, at least f…
