and my legs are metronome to the
heartbeat of a quiet afternoon.
neither of us are talking,
just sitting:
push, rock
the clanking of chain against chain
and screw inside of wood
protesting against our weight,
and we're simply sitting
amid the bird-song and each other:
push, rock
and i think, "we're here on a swing
and there is space between us
and he's just two
and i wonder if he knows
how much i love him?"
so i reach over,
caress his fat-creased thighs
and i whisper,
i love you:
push, rock
we're just sitting
and neither of us is talking
and there's space between us
and still looking forward
he reaches over the space and touches my hand:
push, rock
reposting this for enily's imperfect prose
2 comments:
a precious moment, a tender recounting. i hope you keep these in another place, so your kids have them to remember, later...
my legs are metronome to the
heartbeat of a quiet afternoon.
this whole piece, misty, it's absolutely breathtaking. and that touch of the hand? this... this is what life is all about, no? love you sister.
Post a Comment