At the Coffee Shop, My Two-Year-Old Daughter Says I Love You for the First Time
by Kelly Grace Thomas
There is no end to her hunger. Nova wants. Nova
wants. Her hands reach for a blueberry donut. Banana
bread. The orange puppy barking like a tiny, yippy mum.
She craves the world in her mouth. To touch taste poke
swallow until she’s learned the language of each new pleasure.
And how can I blame her? When she bangs her tiny fists,
smears her touch across the window, whimpers at the pane
of glass that divides her and her longing. I’m jealous of her
satisfaction. How easy it is to feed such simple cravings.
I have spent so many years ravenous for a version of my life
that never comes. When it’s time to go to the potty, my sister
picks her up. Carries her small body away from mine.
Nova reaches for me, says I love you, Momma for the first time.
I want to swim in that moment, to tell her how I waited
for these words, her warm echo, her hand reaching back.
But then she turns to the barista and yells, I love you, coffee
lady. Suddenly, it’s no longer ours. I can’t keep it.
But isn’t that the point?
wants. Her hands reach for a blueberry donut. Banana
bread. The orange puppy barking like a tiny, yippy mum.
She craves the world in her mouth. To touch taste poke
swallow until she’s learned the language of each new pleasure.
And how can I blame her? When she bangs her tiny fists,
smears her touch across the window, whimpers at the pane
of glass that divides her and her longing. I’m jealous of her
satisfaction. How easy it is to feed such simple cravings.
I have spent so many years ravenous for a version of my life
that never comes. When it’s time to go to the potty, my sister
picks her up. Carries her small body away from mine.
Nova reaches for me, says I love you, Momma for the first time.
I want to swim in that moment, to tell her how I waited
for these words, her warm echo, her hand reaching back.
But then she turns to the barista and yells, I love you, coffee
lady. Suddenly, it’s no longer ours. I can’t keep it.
But isn’t that the point?
Kelly Grace Thomas is a poet, educator, and an ocean-obsessed Aries from Jersey. Her first full-length collection, Boat Burned, was released with YesYes Books in 2020. She is the winner of the Jane Underwood Poetry Prize and the Neil Postman Award for Metaphor. Kelly’s poems have appeared in: Best New Poets, Adroit, 32 Poems, Los Angeles Review, Muzzle, Sixth Finch, and more. Kelly has received fellowships from the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing and Kenyon Review Young Writers’ Workshop. Kelly is the Director of Pedagogy for Get Lit- Words Ignite and the author of Voices in Verse: Poetry, Identity and Ethnic Studies; Stanzas of America: Celebrating BIPOC Poetry; and Words Ignite: Explore, Write and Perform Classic and Spoken Word Poetry (Literary Riot) all currently taught in the Los Angeles Unified School District. Kelly is currently a Blackburn Fellow in the Randolph College MFA program. She lives in Benicia, California with her husband, daughter, and sister. www.kellygracethomas.com