poetic interlude #7: auntie

for Landry

babbling, bobbling

across the field,

sand flying up under your feet

you hand it to me,

the child-sized ball,

your sticky fingers

and tiny afro

raised toward the clouds,

you stare with wide eyes

then you run into the fray,

I could only pick you up

and twirl you around,

hold you on my hip,

you speak to me

but I cannot speak back

for I am not of you,

you are not for me

but you light up,

you laugh

like you understand

pass, pass

and I do

the ball bounces between us