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To be six with you, climbing monkey bars

tangling legs, until one of us grows tired,

cede's and lets the other win.

We'd tumble down into the warm summer sand,

race each other to the swings, flying high,

until we almost reach the leaves on the trees,

Closing our eyes, pretending that we can fly

as we launch ourselves, hands and feet sprawling,

trying to land further then the other.

To be six with you, running barefoot in the fresh cut grass,

Blowing bubbles we made with your mamma's dish soap, clapping our hands

together, bursting what we catch until our fingers stick

to the hula hoop swinging, around and around

while we count out 51..52..53, until it tumbles

to the ground in defeat.

To be six with you, I would pinky swear to the bestest

friend of all, and I, I would never let you down.

But here in your bedroom, where little mermaid

swims along the pink and blue walls,

I read you the stories until you fall off asleep,

thankful to be your mother, but if there

was anything else that I could be,
I'd be six with you.

Learn more about this author, Faith Behrends.
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