my daughter eats a cupcake
from the top down
starting with the swirls of frosting
it gets all over
not just on her teeth and lips
but also on her face and in her hair
she's three
I've eaten my cupcakes
frosting last
for years
delaying my satisfaction
shoving a mouthful of
frosting-less cake
between my teeth
before I let myself enjoy
the sweetest part
I know about the marshmallow test
the supposed importance of
having the will to wait
to pause before taking
what you really want
I think
I should teach her to eat
her frosting last
so she will someday
be successful
get a job
make a lot of money
be fulfilled
but then I see her
walk away
the frosting gone, her face and hair
all blue and red and sugary
the cake still there, unbitten
she's taken what she wants
and leaves the rest
relishing her pleasure
joyfully ignorant of convention
of waste, of patience,
of expectations of self-control
she licks a smear of frosting
from her face
and laughs
I think
she's going to be okay
poem (c) 2019 and photograph (c) 2018 D. Ohlandt
please only reprint in entirety and with credit given