2022-10-27T15:49:11-07:00March 12th, 2020|Parenthood|

The Lego store

My kids empty their piggy banks
and send me to the Lego store,
where I Facetime them pictures of all the options
because that’s how it’s done in a pandemic.

I smile at the cashier,
whose name is Clark,
a too-long knowing smile
that you save for strangers
whose circumstances you can relate to,
like ferry line-ups in a windstorm
or a virus inking across a slippery world.

My daughter begins building as soon as I get home
and I am cutting her a mango when she says to me:

mama, wouldn’t it be so cool
if they made a Lego hospital set?

I look at my hands,
sticky with yellow pulp
and I suddenly I wish I was back at the store,
where Clark would take one look
and he would understand
how unreasonable it is that our skin is so thin.

He would smile
in a sad yet comforting way
and it would mean

what delicate sacks we are
for all these bones.

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