Sonnet for Margot with Three Vulvas, Two Penises, and a Merry-Go-Round

In her child language there is no distinction
between L and R, and in her mouth my name
sounds like a pile of mush with a hard cry at the end
which I sometimes am when she asks me what
the wind is made of and if vulvas are magic,
except vulvas are bulbas, and she sometimes
also wonders out loud when she will grow
a penis and if eating strawberries will help.
I try in these moments to tune in so intently,
knowing how small this thin window is when
she is three and the whole world is one rainbow-
colored merry-go-round of possibility
where mothers grow out of unicorns and in
the sky at night Jupiter is friends with Penis.