We have forgotten
how to celebrate normality.
We mark our victories and defeats
with clothespins by which we hang
our ordinary sets of moments.
And in doing so,
we raise children
who feel they have to be famous
to be worthy.
Who feel they have to try impossible
before they are allowed to settle on happy.
So come here, my little ones,
let me see if I can find that road again,
where the speed limit is slow enough
that you notice the lupins,
the one that winds in and out
of a long and beautiful life,
where normal is a word
that makes us swell once more