little natalie,
you came in soft—no trumpet, no claim,
just breath learning body, just pulse learning name.
and something in me—ancient, aware—
fell to its knees in the hush of your air.
i have known storms, i have carried their sound,
i have broken and mended on life’s harder ground;
but you—small miracle, quiet and bright—
rearranged darkness and softened the night.
i will not shape you with dreams that are mine,
nor press you into some inherited design.
the world will try, with its labels and lines—
but your soul is not theirs, and your truth is not timed.
so i pray—not for pathways, not crowns, not acclaim—
but for a wild, steady joy that outlives any name.
i pray for a heart that can open and stay,
even after the world has tried pulling away.
i pray for your laughter—unmeasured, untamed,
for a spirit unbroken, unbent, unnamed;
for a freedom so quiet it doesn’t need proof,
for a knowing within you that cannot be moved.
and i will stand near—not ahead, not behind—
just witness to wonder, just keeper of time;
watching you bloom in your own sacred way,
not who i imagine—
but who you will say.
i can’t wait, little one—through each season you spin—
to meet you again, and again, and again.
—grandma nikki 🤍
