A Two-Year-Old Prayer

I change his diaper
on the bedroom floor.
White carpet, toys all around.
He grabs the book beside him
and asks me to read.
I can’t since one hand is holding him
and the other is busy, and then he says,
“…father, son, holy spirit,
bless Jesus, and Mary,
and not be sick, and not worry,
and not hit…amen…”
I continue the messy work
while he inquires about his sisters
and then we head out for a last bit of
playing, sorting, storing, reading
and wild running before bed
while my heart sings.  

At the Window

He says,
“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?”

I say,
“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.