A Little Blue Life

I will live a teeny little life. And I will take a slender lover who will make a tiny baby with me and we will say things like, ‘The wee thing is yellow, to the window, to the window!’

And we will take him home to our pint-sized house with a modest yard surrounded by a quiet wood of weeping willows and live humble humble moments.

And we will have a miniature horse, no, no, a miniature pony to put our baby on when he gets just a bit less tiny.

And we will ride him around in our quiet wood and beware of bees.

And we will make grilled cheeses whenever it seems right and warranted.

And we will live within our walls and wish for a sofa just fit for the three of us.

And we will take up needlepoint and adorn these walls so freely freely with samplers that say things such as: ‘Out of this dreariness and into this cheeriness, we will come in our weariness, home,’ and ‘Fear may be near, but not in here!’

We will lean in and sigh little whispers like, ‘You know what popsicles mean to me!’ and then we will nod in our spare ways and notice that we both have blue blue eyes, so much like pools of melted crayolas, yet somehow our tiny baby does not.