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2011-12-09T21:36:47-05:00December 9th, 2011|Creativity, Parenthood|

Magic sky fluff

He runs up to them
clapping his hands
laughing like a goat

all week he has been giving me
invisible presents
magic sky fluff, we call it
he presses the nothingness into my palm
with formality
unusually long eye contact
making sure I know
what he knows

this is what he offers them
four homeless men
smoking around a table in the park
his fingers reaching towards them
expectantly
holding nothing but the cold December emptiness
waiting for them to show delight
trust in the alchemy of air
to love

the youngest one
face like gravel
takes the gift in the cup of his two hands
and drinks it
long and slow
he hums with exaggerated appreciation
my son laughs
which really does sound like a goat
and makes the men laugh

I smile and wipe my son’s runny nose
we better head home, little goose, I say
he cranes his neck back to wave
at his new friends

I hear the oldest of the four say
I wish I had a nice lady to wipe my nose
the men laugh
and I instantly wish
we had stayed longer.

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