Sandcastle

I imagine some
future child
less inhibited
and more
inquisitive
than most

resting on
my hip as
we go about
our business

who will run
his chubby
little finger
across the
red mark
on my neck

faded now
but still angry
when I picture
it in my mind

a little jagged
because someone
couldn’t sew in
a straight line
after a full
workday plus
standing over
me on the
operating table

and say,
“Dis? What dis?”

And I will be
so happy that
another human
acknowledged it

no matter how
innocently or
unaware of
its meaning

that I will just
shower kisses
down on his
little forehead

and say,
“nothing, sweetheart.
It’s nothing. Let’s go
find your mother.”
~8/8/16

_____

And maybe when he’s older I’ll teach him how to spell titanium and aneurysm and let him feel the bump in my forehead where the screw is a little loose. Happy 14, bionic brain. Let’s try this one more time. If I’ve learned one thing after the past 15 years have gone by, anyone who lives thinking more than one year ahead has looser screws than I do.

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