I gather my eyes
And gaze at the phone screen.
There resides my 3-year-old granddaughter,
Caught pirouetting, twirling,
Clowning in her father’s hat.
Her spirit shouts out
From the screen –
Joyful, ebullient,
Delighted in this
Simplest of acts.
Now I sit on my cushion
Eight thousand miles away,
Separated by a disease
That has crept around the globe,
Dividing us
For goodness knows how long.
Someday, I will wear
Her father’s hat and
Pirouette around that same room,
her hand in mine.
Oh, sweetness,
May I have this dance with you?
David Hanig 