The mystery of girls
has suddenly closed in around him
like drapes drawn shut
on a window that had the clearest view
only just last week.
and looks that last a second
but mean a hundred things
and laughter that stops and starts
at things he doesn’t understand.
“I wish there was a crush detector
for just one day,”
he said out loud to the ceiling today
and I couldn’t think of the right way
to tell him that the figuring-out
is the most exciting part,
learning this silent new language
that runs on electricity
and sounds like a thumping heart
and if I had to colour it
I would pick the exact flush
of his cheeks.
But I didn’t say any of that,
I just put extra butter on his toast,
put on that Sinéad O’Connor song
that always makes me cry,
and we listened to it together
to the end.