It is quiet in the house except for the hum of the twirling fan. Only cracks of lights enter the darkened room. I steal a few moments to be alone with my thoughts. It is the eve of my granddaughter's fourth birthday. A whoosh of camera-ready moments rushes past me, from infant to toddler to a curious little girl. The years of her joyous life "whisper loud enough to make me stop and take stock."*
I dedicate the following pantoum poem composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The last line of the pantoum is the same as the first.