Bending

I bend and snap closed her pink heart-covered raincoat,
my knees creaking, the fabric swishing.
I sweep back a lock of her wavy blonde hair
and click the purple flower clip into place.
We will rush for shoes and boots and bag.

She cries when she’s tired, only she doesn’t know that’s the reason.
I wipe the salt-drops from beneath her eyes,
some slipping over her cheeks, falling to her belly, or to the floor.
We hug.  She crawls onto to my unsteady, half-squat lap.
I am bending and she is held.

Trust (I)

I bounce a little
and sway a little
and turn myself in a slow circle;
I pat Mr. I’m-18-Months-Old-
And-I-Love-Toy-Cars on the back
and wrap his soft arm around my neck.
He rubs my shoulder with pudgy fingers.
He makes quiet ooo-ooo-ing sounds.

I bounce a little,
sway a little
and turn myself in a slow circle;
I feel his head press against my chest,
feel his weight press down on my arms,
feel his hands become still and his voice quiet.

I bounce a little
and sway a little,
turn myself in a slow circle a little more.
He has fallen,
and I have caught him.