She has red hair
and a wonky tooth.
She is taller than him
but he tells me
their thumbs
are the same length.
Her name is Layla
and after he drags me
over to meet her,
I tell them
I’ve met her before
in the playground.
So she throws her arms
around him
and shouts
like a judge declares
a winner:
“See, we’re already friends!”
and as the sun drops,
leaving a pretty smudge
of pink chalk
across the sky,
he gets on his bike
and she kisses him on the cheek.
He bikes fast
to show off
but then he stops
and yells:
“I love you more
than all my ancestors!”
and the last few moms
packing up blankets
and babies
clutch their hearts.
As I do,
feeling a cracking open
of hope,
with a slight ache too,
as I feel myself
wishing a five-year-old’s
uncomplicated devotion
was something
we could all
catch.