This morning, I bit into a plastic slice of watermelon
Prepared by my daughter
Along with some hard toast and make-believe jam,
A small snack upstairs in the playroom.
She laughed as the pretend juice dribbled down my throat,
And, thanking her for her gift, I reached for a blue pail,
A fitting receptacle for imaginary seeds.
What caught my eye were the thousand spots of confetti
We dreamed up all around
As we looked toward the ceiling for invisible balloons
And the clouds that wished for them.
But then, she grabbed the blanket from her bed
And billowed it to the carpet
Where we sat together for a picnic and, later, an elegant tea party,
One in which she and I planned the rest of the day
Over our warm cups of thin air.