“A Little Tune” by Joseph Enxweiler
Here’s a poem for the little girl
who sat with the band and hit the drum,
who swung her feet to a little tune.
At four years old, it’s all that easy.
When she hit the drum, it was the drum
to hit. Time to go and go she went,
a curl of air at the flowered skirt,
her blonde hair hurrying to keep up.
We felt the distance between us then,
all the money she never spent,
deals never made or taxes paid,
no due considerations, sorrows
or tactful retreats. Our smiles
bore the loss of something pure
as mother held the coat she backed into,
laughing at the ceiling as she’s buttoned up,
perfectly alone, the way water
is happy around a stone. We were watching
a field move, nothing to say, just the wind,
or how God was content with the infinite
and the dark, then by accident gestured
and made the stars.