“Mom, come here, Mom,
come here a second, Mom.
Look out the window. D’you hear that?
Bird? D’you hear that bird, owl? Shhh, listen.”
Then he tells me,
“Your lap, Mom. I want to sit on your lap, Mom.
Fall asleep on you. Ok?”
“Yes, coming. Just a moment.
I see, yes, I hear it. Mourning dove, I think.”
Then I tell him,
“Ok, sure, yes, come on.
Ok. I love you, too.”
And I listen to every word he ever tells me,
over and over and
again. And I think about being held,
and always being held, about
tenderness and constancy,
and fear, and having someone to run to.
And I think about blessings, and being blessed.