Is That You, Gipaw? A Dream Poem
I stomp halfway downstairs
tip-toe back up.
My mind flapjacks.
I turn around.
I stomp halfway downstairs
tip-toe back up.
I hear silent expectation.
I walk deliberately all the way downstairs
and into the kitchen.
I strap a Santa mask
across my face.
I peer through eyeholes
at my granddaughter.
Magic moment of uncertainty.