Medium

“I’m not little, I’m medium!”

with feet planted, you declare

to those at the playground who would

exclude the ‘little brother.’

 

Big squeezes, kisses rain upon your

cheeks, rosy from outside play.

Big squeeze, big squeeze, then:

“Daddy, that’s too hard! I’m medium.”

 

Dogs on leashes, small dogs –

these don’t frighten the medium boy.

But big dogs or no leash and

these make panic rise,

“Just ‘cuz…I’m medium.”

 

You want to stay up later, or run as fast

to write all the alphabet, to read whole

words, to climb to the v-e-r-y top.

 

“Mommy, when will I be big?”

 

I wrote this poem about my son in 2012, when he was 5.

This post is also part of the series February Beautiful.

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