Saturday, May 13, 2017

Soli is 7

On the eve of his seventh birthday

His face slides across the road,
Anything to keep his dad from
Making another basket,
Eye, cheek, chin now red and swollen.
I hold the ice pack in place,
Hold his long body in the bed,
Back to chest.
We've always meant to go together-
His kind kind eyes and wild hair,
The way he races to find his buddies after school,
Takes another too steep hill on his bike,
Flips over the handlebars.
That was just a few days ago.
His knees are raw on raw.
Thank god for helmets,
Cortisone cream, bandaids.
Thank god for fierce loyalty,
For fighting hard and loving harder.
How I adore him with a ferocity,
With an acceptance
Of all I don't totally grasp,
His boy wild,
His fearless warrior of rad.

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