When she was five
she was skipping down the street
without a backwards glance.
When she was five
she ate homemade ice cream
and blueberries.
When she was five
she would go up to the boardwalk
to drink from the fountain
and run back to the blanket
demanding more crackers.
When she was five
she could tie her own shoes.
When she was five
she could,
without anyone's help,
get ice pops from the freezer,
brush her own teeth,
put a movie in the VCR and watch it.
When she was five
she would so sweetly lay her head on my shoulder
and tell me I was the best mom ever.
When she was five
she noticed boys
and noticed when they didn't notice her.
When she was five
her mother made mental snapshots
to hold fast
this butterfly,
this little woman.



S. McNicholas 1996