You won’t remember this,
though your dearest ones will
someday show you old photos,

but on your first Easter you
did not hunt for eggs or have a basket,
though you were in a kind of basket

for a time—your happy place
backpack on your dad and your
grandma as she squirted

whipped cream on berries for
dessert. You made your own spitty
raspberries with your tongue

at your mom, and, did pushups
on the floor with George, the kitty,
and, after a very exciting day,

you fell asleep at last on your
grandpa’s lap as he peshed your
sweet face—much as

he used to stroke his little boy’s
cheeks not all that long ago.
We grownups sigh at all

the cuteness, at the realization
that it’s all going so quickly,
your babyhood. You have

brought spring in your sparkling
smile (two teeth buds blooming),
in your blueblue eyes,

in your ginger hair, and someday,
when you look at these photos
of the tiny you as we know you now,

we want you to remember
how much you were adored,
how much delight you brought us,

which will continue—we promise—
for all the rest of our days together
and beyond.