Last night, my son set a leprechaun trap,
a cardboard box held up on one side
by a drumstick, the knobby wooden torso
of the stick ready to pull the box over a small
magical creature full of gold. My son says,
if we catch him, we get to make three wishes.
He sets a small red double decker bus under
the box to play with, no cookies or food
because of the dog, adds a plush toy
to rest on, maybe to lure him in.
Before my son falls asleep, he tiptoes in to see
if the trap has been sprung, then to me, to say
he was checking, then back to his room, until
morning when he will check again or listen for
the scratch of a trapped leprechaun.
I want to learn from my son how to set
traps for my wishes. I want for the world to be
kind to his innocence, for my imagination
to remember to bloom.