My Favorite Shapes

When my daughter was almost two, her favorite word was “ball”. She’s 9 today, and still my “ball”.

WHEN YOU WERE ALMOST TWO

When you were almost two, you called every sphere a ball.

Your brother had a Halloween balloon. It was white with black ghost eyes. You sat on your stool, denting its air. Then you floated it to me. Craning your neck to follow it, announcing, “Baaaallll”, at the same slow speed it flew.

Once by mistake, Skittles bounced out of their noisy package onto the floor, rolling like marbles. The sound beckoned you, then their rainbow colors. You pinched one between your fingers. The sweet sugary smell. With a green-stained tongue, you begged, “Ball? Peeeeesssss!”

At the grocery store, there were many balls:
oranges, potatoes, melons, grapes, onions.
As we exited, you pointed for the last time. The jackpot of spheres: lined glass jars filled with gum. You exclaimed, delighted at your discovery, “Ball! Ball! Ball!”

My favorite was the day we searched for birds in the sky, but instead you found the sun and questioned with surprise and wonder at its blurred rounded shape, “Ball?”

Honey, when you were almost two, you convinced me that if some fairy made me choose just a few words for the rest of my life, ball would be one of them.

Heck, the whole earth is a sphere.

With my word I would point to you, my floating air, delicious rainbow, hearty food, warm sunshine. My world.

I’d open my round eyes and round mouth, hoping all the love inside would tumble out.

Then deep, steady, slowly,
so that you’d remember it for ages,
I’d whisper in your ear,

Ball.