If I could only say
ten words today,
I wouldn't tell you
to eat your broccoli,
or inquire why there's purple ink
all over your feet.
Instead, I would lift you up
and lay my cheek
against your tangled hair
I love you;
I will always love you.
But today I have
such a multitude of words to offer --
such an unrestricted store of
commands, questions, answers, anecdotes,
exclamations, explanations, exasperation,
advice, admonishments, adulation --
that I might quite easily forget
the ten words
I want to say.
Mary Soon Lee, born in London, lives in Squirrel Hill. Her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, American Scholar and Main Street Rag.