Who You Are

You are the paint freckling my face 
and the dirt congregating under my fingernails. 

You are my sleepless nights 

and my impatient days, 

and my guilt at my impatience. 

You are hours of the same words read 

and reread 

and eventually recited 

without the need for turned pages 

or focused eyes. 

You are the bread and fruit and cheese dinners, 

and the long, loud bath afterwards. 

You are research 

and phone calls 

and trips to the emergency room 

just in case, 

and you are also every song that I have sung 

and every poem that I have written 

and every picture you have made me color in blue. 

You are the swings at the park 

and the giraffe at the zoo 

and the obnoxiously attentive waitress at the museum. 

You are every other bite of my ice cream, 

and every single bubble that I blow. 

You are chalk dust 

and French braids 

and long skirts 

and laughter, 

and I love you.