three years ago, you arrived
with your mother’s face
and hair all over
that first night, you wouldn’t eat
by breast or bottle
you just cried, hungry
at ten months, you skipped crawling
and started walking
but not on sidewalks
you’d rather walk on the side
trudge through snow and ice
while holding my hand
other kids played in the snow
they laid on their backs
while waving their limbs
horizontal jumping jacks
then they hopped aside
to add a halo
you saw them but didn’t care
you dropped to the ground
and did it face down
like a flailing skydiver
and when you were done
you pushed yourself up
with bright red cheeks and sipon
you smirked as you ate
a mouthful of snow
i admired your imprint
and knelt down to add
horns and a pointed tail
INSTANT NOODLES 