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.