Frost

The girls look out the skinny vertical window
next to the front door in the morning, inspecting
the day. “When’s the last time you did something
for the first time?” the sign read. “Every time,”
came my teacher’s answer, and I shook my head,
still wondering what it will take to take my practice
seriously, and what it will take to start believing
that I already do. “Mama, there’s frost!”
they yelled in unison before running to the car
windows, racing the sun, etching their names.