In the morning he calls for mommy,
but if I am sensible enough to rise,
I go because, even though it was only a night,
I miss his beautiful face.
When he says good morning,
the sweetness is overwhelming.
I feel like the bottom of my heart
can’t support its fullness;
like it will fall straight through my body,
through the floor.
He leads me downstairs to prepare
breakfast and my coffee.
Chatty, his imagination precipitates,
his words tumble and flow
like a rain-swollen stream.
I listen to his dreams and love them.
I dismantle his nightmares with explanations,
and advice on confronting fears,
even those that sound silly to me,
because bad dreams can be absurd,
but he is still so new to the world
and should never have to be afraid.
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