Division

Division

And you know what else?
My seven-year-old taunts
his younger brother.
At the end of the year
she is going to teach us division.

Division, Division, Division.

It rolls off his tongue
like freshly whipped cream.
He knows it will be delicious.
He longs and yearns for it
without understanding
what it really means.
What it truly is.

A parsing,
a simple method of making
smaller of something larger.
A dissection of pure joy
into something only
1/2 or 1/4 or 1/64 as large.

But for now the promise
of division at the end,
like a beloved dessert,
makes all that he must eat
more digestible.