It doesn’t get better than this

How you pick me up and place on your hips, sing old tunes

and cook wheat germ in milk, slowly turning the spoon,

a world on its happy axis. The day is still soft as cotton

when dad arrives, you put me in high chair and disappear.

technicolor cheerios stuck to my tapping palms and

I-love-my-Mom bib. In his first hour of humming,

songs are shaped as O and U, his touch like a good pillow.

Dora and friendly dinosaurs smile on TV,

cushions of round eyes with swings of alphabets,

you wipe a wide ring of applesauce around my lips,

lean your head back, your face a prayer on repeat

and your body next to me, a warm blanket of lullabies,

soft wedges of moonlight through the swaying slats

tickle my sleep, trespass sweet dreams.


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