If the day comes
that he stomps and slams
and declares we are
everything wrong,
I won’t remind him
that he used to fall asleep
at my breast
and hold my hand
while he slept.
I won’t tell him that his dad
once took three buses to a hotel
from an airport in the rain
with him in his arms
because he cried
in carseats.
I won’t re-read him
the letters we wrote him
while he was still in my belly
telling him how much
he was wanted.
But I do plan to show a video,
proof of how we abandoned
our inhibitions
to make him laugh.
Somehow, it is this
gargantuan undertaking of play
that I hope will crack
his anger and flood him
with the memory
of our devotion.
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