Muscle Memory

There is a tree still standing in the Redwoods that remembers

There’s a ring sitting in a trunk under old love letters, and a woolen sweater, it remembers

There’s a photograph of your smile shadows cast by the setting sun in an album now covered in paper,

it remembers

And it’s been a while, but I recall that big sweet smile.

And I remember the Mean Green Machine of family celebrating your arrival.

I remember the first time you held my man, little man.

I remember your five tiny fingers on the left, and on the right

I remember that I loved you so much, you were worth every bit of the fight.

I remember your funny little toes, and your perfect little nose.

Today, while you are away this is where my mind goes.

I remember the time you said my name. The first I love you. Kissing away all your pain.

I remember when you were almost two and scared to cross the seams in the sidewalk…

I remember your proud brother teaching you to talk.

You make a perfect square. Together we are family.

Funny little one, how you fascinate me.

Light As A Feather, Stiff As a Board

There is a whole colony of ‘whosers’ living on the tips of your lashes

They swing from lash to lash and from their unique vantage point can see nearly anything.

Whosers see us and they laugh when we seem lost.. they call out to help us, but we don’t hear them at any cost.

Your ‘whosers” are lying little losers, they cloud your vision. They make it hard to see the stars..

Great Experimentations

Time stalls in our presence… it stops to watch what we’ll do next.

When we were children we ran naked through a backyard sprinkler and the old lady who lived there yelled at us and threatened to call the police. We ran like little snipes from her yard and the delicious stolen droplets of water now pooling between our toes.

The winds stop moving at your command, I watch it happening with wonder as you wave your right hand.

You are ten feet tall and bullet proof, you are the epitome of a summer spent in a radio flyer, and treasures collected at the beach. You are sand between my toes, and sex underneath.

I told you once we were running with scissors, and there was never any safety net… I felt the chill in late september and a pain I haven’t forgotten yet.

Time stalls in our presence in a sleepy sort of way… It doesn’t get things done, there is always another little something it needs to say.

Turn back the clock, meet halfway down the block, bring your Bird on a wire, and that rusted old radio flyer.

Pakistani children cool off by walking t