around your name.
Our wishes are burdens.
Our wishes are gifts.
We wish you everything—
freckles and fame,
rockets and rocking chairs,
roses in the rain.
You can’t play with everything.
You don’t have time.
You don’t have the space.
You like the wrapping best.
A king among kids
you arrived
with a solid gold Lego set:
some people, some genes,
a city, a smile.
That’s everything.
That’s all you need
for the game.
You’ll make a mighty tower
or a tiny flower—
we don’t care which.
We love you anyway.
You play with the packaging.
Quite right, baby.
You’ll grow into your skin.
You’ll grow into your name.
© Rachel McAlpine 2009, For Hugo
