They say that the toddler mind
is an egocentric scientist,
a concrete mosaic,
a short verse poem;
- a tsunami that can swallow entire villages.
I watch my daughter
throw her plastic teacup across the room
and stomp her tiny feet
into the carpet. She wants me to know that she is mad, mad, mad.
I imagine the imaginary tea
trailing behind the cup,
freezing as a rivulet
and dissipating. A tiny hate comet bursting into flame.
- because she no longer believes.
I want to understand.
I want fresh impressions and eloquent behaviors. So,
that nothing exists outside of myself.
that love is more than a soreness in my chest.
I eventually find
my own shattered tea set. The pieces
swimming like fish behind my shoulders.
it all becomes so clear:
The tea set is a liar,
it never meant to serve tea
least of all me,
- and I am mad, mad, mad.