for Amy Irvine
I didn’t know then we were lucky,
that day when we rode down the hill
on the sleds with our kids. They were cold
and crying and reluctant, and the hill
was small, and the thrill was mostly
missing. And I remember you saying,
“There will be a day we look back on this,
and think how easy we had it, how
silly we were to think this is hard.”
And I remember not quite believing you
as our children continued to scream and
whine, as we dragged them inside and
removed their soggy mittens and boots
and socks that had fallen around their arches,
as we made them hot chocolate and
talked in the kitchen about sleepless nights
and two-hour tantrums and the loss
of time to ourselves. How could I have known
that twelve years later, how sweet that looks,
how innocent, how fun, the kids banging
on the piano, their hands sticky, their faces bright.