You are G-tube, trach-dependent,
deaf, blind, devastated, orphaned, forgotten,
and 2 years old today.
You are an incredible teacher.
acute renal failure,
I wonder . . . do you dream?
Of peppermint breezes and thrumming valleys,
burning bushes and albino woods,
bottomless sun and twisting caverns,
marshmallow clouds and rose-petal rains.
Of swiftwater farms with slow-flowing trickles
over cotton rocks past hand-dripped castles
under deafening moonrises through endless time
Without a shadow.
Of a doubt.
You are neither a carrot nor a cucumber.
What gift can I give you?
I will still say “good morning” when I enter your room.