Meeting the New Neighbors

The little girl who moved in yesterday looks crisp and clean She is leaning out their window, toward the garden I wonder if she wants to be outside It looks like she is dressed in her Sunday best I imagine they will be calling her to the car in a second She looks like an Elizabeth or a Dorothy. The child catches me watching her. She waves in a carefree happy way. She leans out the window “Can you come out and play?” I am an older woman now, no one ever says this. It tickles me. I nod. A man’s voice calls her away from the window. From the backseat of their coupe she waves. I wave back, feeling happy. While they are gone I bake them a cake. I have it frosted by the time they return. I tell them that their child “made my day”. Her name is Lucille, my name.