To a Squirrel, Age 8
You there, boy,
say something unprecedented again.
“Imagine if car tires were made of pizza”
you posit, so I do. I consider it seriously,
but you’ve pivoted to designing a board game,
and flying a pen around like a spaceship.
When I moved in you drew me a picture
of a sunflower to cheer me up
though you didn’t know why I was sad.
Your instincts are good,
you feral, whirling, golden-hearted creature.
I think you’re onto something here,
and I want a front-row seat for it.
To a Velociraptor, Age 5
You are so thoroughly yourself.
This world is yours and you will have it,
but in your own damn time.
You are learning English
like it’s a foreign language
and let’s be honest, it is.
You make me think about words
because your approach is so novel.
You make me think about will
because yours is unshakable.
You are a force of nature
in a fun-sized package.
Good luck to those who underestimate you.
To Their Aunt, age 38
This might be the only answer you get
About how to stop feeling like a pretender
Look at the world through their eyes
Look at yourself that way, too.
It’s hard, the work of being a person
You tell them over and over
But the rewards are many
You get to decide what it means
And you’re doing it just fine
You’re making all the right mistakes.