Three poems about Joshua, by Joshua, as dictated to his mother.
Sometimes when mommy bumps my bed, I become
After raising my arms I
Rest quite comfortably.
Though it appears rigid, it feels
Like my arms are resting on a cloud.
For weeks, I have tried to fit both in my mouth
In vain, I struggle day after day.
Someday I will be the master of my jaw.
Today, I will grunt and growl and
Squeal until finally, ten fingers fit inside.
Are a sign of my sweetness.
Crying doesn't mean I'm not
Happy. My eyes are a faucet with a slow leak.
Really I'm fine.
You can save your sympathy.
My mother's traits inherited are an
Even she agrees.
1 week ago