All I can think about are those tiny feet, his first laugh, and how he surprised me one day with the word ‘red’. What a joy as they start to move, and speak and enjoy the world. What heartache when they feel hurt by it.
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It is the air itself
that saves us.
Night’s cool cover, a cloth
on our burning face…
I gather fallen limbs,
handle lichened bones
with reverence,
returning them
to the base of their tree.
Sleepless elbows and knees find my hip,
shin, and the tender bone under my eye,
my body remembering a knot of child
kneading my bladder, stealing my breath,
stamping footprints on my belly…