If we could start over, I'd let you get dirtier.
Place your face in the food, it's okay.
In trade for great metaphors,
the ones you used to spout every minute,
I'd extend your bedtime,
be more patient with tantrums,
never answer urgency with urgency,
try to stay serene.
In one scene you are screaming
And I stop the car.
What do we do next?
I can't remember.
It's buried in the drawer of small socks.
Give me the box of time.
Let's make it bigger.
It's all yours.
Naomi Shihab Nye, Honeybee: Poems & Short Prose (Greenwillow Books, 2008)
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