A day with my Granddaughter

After Elena leaves my house,
I find hole punchers and red stickers scattered in every room,
Legos in the sofa cracks,
a sippy cup in the refrigerator,
two miniature Reese cup wrappers on the desk,
one for me, one for her,
a wet diaper under the bed,
tea party cups and Mickey Mouse washcloths in the tub,
with the pink plastic pourer for rinsing shampoo,
three hairbrushes, tiny rubber bands

After Elena leaves my house,
eight colors of masking tape decorate the white sofa,
a roll of calculator tape stretches from the kitchen to the back door,
curled every which way.
A metal measuring tape extends five feet, measuring nothing,
and under the dining table are four crayons,
three pink and one pupple
and a baby doll with a bottle of fake leche.

I look at the shower curtain and remember her saying,
"I hiding! You can't see me!"
And she doesn't know I see her face through the plastic zinnias
so happy when she pulls back the curtain
and reveals herself, voila!  it's me! 

The sound of her laugher echoes in every room,
and the memory of her saying,
"I love your house, Yenna."
Not knowing it's her presence that makes it so merry.

What a tiny space in a life it is
when you're two,
when you can think you're invisible
but know, at the same time, what a joy it is to be seen--
when you pull the curtain back.