A Reading Family
A Reading Family
Not five months old, our daughter looks
with unexpected purpose at the grown-up books
with which she shares our laps,
rejecting dolls and plastic keys and naps
we offer to remind her of her age:
she puzzles over any printed page,
until her brightening eyes
begin, we almost think, to realize
these straight lines, points, and arcs
make up an alphabet and punctuation marks –
until we half-recall a time
this business seemed half miracle, half mime,
when we, too, strained at mastery of
our closest rivals for our loved ones' love.
