It’s been their ritual for months now
every morning as I drive them to school
they roll down the windows
and yell nice things
at strangers
they take turns
and they don’t seem to have a plan
for what they’ll say
tossing words out
like petals
you’re amazing
I like your pants
have a wonderful life
but it’s not their words I hoard
it’s the reactions
old ladies and commuters on bikes
and people in winter coats waiting for the bus
they all react the same way
and I collect these faces now like jewels
the crack of confusion at first
a curl of shyness
and then the slow buttery softening
of gratitude.