All the yous you've been

Taller than me now
Longer fingers than mine
When we hold hands,
Mine are the small ones.

But I still see you—all of the yous:
a child with small teeth
and messy hair,
a toddler with so much energy
it could light up any room entered,
a baby with huge eyes,
a searching look, and an infectious laugh.

You—all of you.
I'm bombarded with memories of all
the yous you've been.

And all you want to do is
ask if you can buy this new shirt
oblivious to all the versions of
you hiding in your shadow,
your mannerisms, your smiles.

So I shake my head
and try to focus
on you today.

I'm so glad you're here.