Meeting a Love of my Love - a poem

Mighty Madeline Monroe is such a artsy sort, danced silly
in a show her and her friend Madison put on, a ballerina like duet
filled with regular jello-filled arms and legs, that tossed and turned
in mimicking fashions at what older sisters had done. In almost
synchronized steps, and passing out tickets that misspelled words
that urged us all, child and adult alike to come to the show,
this dance of steps performed by 6-year-old.

Flash forward to a day later on a February morning
in Georgia and she was sleeping quietly on a bed, and tuned
into monitors that checked heart beat, and hands that sent
prayers and blessings through her toes to the top her head. When
told by familiar voice to squeeze hand if she was scared
as they placed stickers on her chilly tummy, she squeezed hand
of familiar, and of nurse all the same.

I read her a story I wrote for her that day before, before
she danced with her friend those almost-synchronized moves
and it was a story about a baby panda bear, her favorite animal,
and one she had requested to be the lead of her story. I was nervous
to deliver it, for a child audience has ears keen for criticism,
but she sat through it all and had no critique to give. I read my story
from the glowing screen of my laptop computer, and used
all the inflections, and nuance children's ears wanted to hear,
and I hope it was good enough for her.

Flash forward to plane ride, and landing, and hearing word
of what transpired while we were in the sky, and I held it together
at hospital because so many others who were closer to her,
to Mighty Madeline Monroe, were needing one another, I was passing
through, but my stomach sank from news from online media land,
and my eyes swelled up like balloons, and I cried, of course I did,
for children have always held special places in my heart,
and this was my loves loves, that she bragged about, and delighted
in me meeting.

The first day in Georgia I met Mighty Madeline in a Wal-Mart superstore,
as she darted to and fro through aisles of toys, staking claim to one toy
or another, and then her beautiful cousin, taking care to watch her,
allowed the little darling to hand her a toy, and then forget about it moments later,
and this was normalcy, it seemed. Spent an hour or so in that store,
and we collapsed in some lawn chairs, and 6-year-old said, "What's your favorite
color?" And I said, maroon, because this was true, and she responded with hers,
"Teal," she proclaimed.

And right now, I think teal is my favorite color too.