His fingers play with
my jingle-jangle bracelets.
Wood beads from India,
Chinese coins my friends and I wear,
an eye encased in gold to ward
off evil spirits,
Buddha with a turquoise bead
and a ladybug.
He touches them gently
feeling each one,
knowing them the way
he knows my lullabies.
The way he knows my voice,
when we dream about the moon and the stars.
When I move away he stretches
to find me in his sleep,
to find the curve of my waist,
where I held his father long ago.
I listen to his breath,
his presence fills my soul.
I dream big dreams for him.
I build memories,
they echo the laughter we share.
A landscape he can remember
and carry in his heart,
the way I carry him in my being.
