Waking up yesterday she says
she had a dream she was Captain of a Starship.
So real to her.
Filled with pride.
Imagination on fire.
At recess
she organized her friends to play space explorers.
Home again,
she conscripts family members to dress up with her.
She named her ship Journey.
And all day she was in flight among the stars.
Last night, way past lights out.
Mom can I talk to you?
No. Please stop stalling and go to bed.
I brush my teeth.
Lay down in bed.
Get up and return to her room.
I must always listen
Even if the timing is inconvenient.
Standing in her door way in the dark.
Mom? this morning it was so real,
but now it’s starting to fade away.
She rests her head against my chest.
I bend my head slightly to kiss the top of her head.
She is so tall now.
I kiss the wool of the beanie she’s wearing to bed,
her current obsession with them not limited to daytime hours.
She is trying on so many different identities at once.
I say,
“You will have so many ways to make it real again.
Write a story.
Use that brain of yours to become an engineer
and build your own starship.
There are so many ways for you to be a Captain.
But now it’s time to get some sleep.”
I love you.