He knows because my hands
cradle his head, my fingers
travel in packs across his arms
and his chest, palm his chin,
direct his smile toward mine.
Sometimes I rub through
the short hair on the back
of his head the way one does
to a pup who’s been a very
good boy, or swim under his
elbows and over his shoulders
to latch onto him like a warm
marsupial in mother-worship.
There needn’t be fireworks or
pink hearts escaping overhead
or even a mild molecular ripple
in the air. I have decided
I like being too old to anticipate
the Earth shattering. What shatters
is how everything gets to stay
this way, exactly where it seems
we will it to be.
RISA PAPPAS is an award-winning short filmmaker, published poet, and freelance writer/editor. Punky by nature. Fan of professional wrestling, feminism, and cartoon cheeseburgers. Editor at Tolsun Books. She lives in the Delaware Valley with a cat and too many houseplants.