Bubbles

My knees ache,
and my back hurts
from rocking her
back and forth,
but I sit—
to get down
on her level.

She had pointed upward,
communicating in her
foreign baby language,
at the blue cylindrical
object with the neon
mustard yellow wand.
The item that made—

her eyes widen,
the drool from her
forthcoming fifth tooth
intensify, the piece of cracker
in her right hand fall
to the floor.
It was bubbles.

Beautiful
floating bubbles,
that if one touched
lightly enough
with the magical
plastic wand,
would bounce—

and softly land
on one’s skin,
or Persian rug
or the tongue
of the toddler whom
I’ve been sitting for.
She can’t get enough—

of the soapy
nontoxic (thank goodness)
balls of iridescent splendor.
I’m not entirely sure the reasoning,
but I must say how easy it is
to become captivated—
they’re hypnotic.

So, what the hell—
I stick out my tongue,
mimicking the 15 month-old
and let the soapy spheres land.
Mmmmm, they don’t taste
the least bit appetizing,
but I’m nevertheless in bliss.