Saria

She's a chunky bullet, at three years old with plastic beads in her hair. And I watch her amazed. No father. No mother. But for a grandfather's love... And OH is he slow. No catching this little snip of wild grass- growing out and inner smiles, slipping her padded hands in mine, calling me "mama" (although I am but a faceless woman, how many has she called before?)... I am torn. Mosquito bites on her face and she loves my daughter. Loves the safety of being near us. A family balanced as it should be. She can't sit still. Plastic beads swinging clackety clack. Little sausage legs dangling in her seat. A whole world of words for her to still learn. And yet she calls me "mama". And I watch her amazed.