he is small

but in a very big way

his feet the size of your average 7 year old

never mind that he won’t be

five for 2 more days

he has taught me

more about me than i could

have learned in a classroom full

of memoir biography and ancestral maps

my head a flutter with paradiddles and the proper

grip of a drumstick i

wonder out loud if the mac n cheese

crayola tastes or at least smells of the

treat bearing its name and he

laughs at mommy’s silly dance and

double good night kisses

he does not have my hands and

the brow he constantly furrows is

signature to he and he alone but in

his eyes i see the curious spirit

of inquisition the light that never ends

invitingly intriguing it questions the very

meaning of moths taking flight and an

unrealistic fear of their landing if

obsessions were dna coded he would be

safe from perfection seeking pathways and a

deep seated desire to get it right

every

time

alas they are not and he is

ensnared in his mother’s madness

perfectly off centered we blow bubbles

in living rooms while delicately painting

swirls on coffee filters to hang in windows

catching summers light never mind

the mess and who is really paying attention

to the smell where

will we go today we chime perfectly

synchronized as we drift into

daydreams of  each other’s tomorrow