Friday, July 9, 2010


Sometime after your bath you have crawled into the bed next to me. We are lying side by side. Our legs are touching ever so slightly so that if I didn't know you were next to me I don't think I could be sure by touch alone. I am in an old T-shirt and shorts that are far too loose. I think you are in a white strappy shirt that you love to wear to bed and when I open my eyes I will see that you are. I cannot feel your wet hair on me, but I can smell shampoo. I open my eyes and I turn just half a sliver - not wanting to break the glass that has encapsulated this perfect moment. I see you. The smooth, velvety skin on your arm is a dark, dark cocoa color and looks so beautiful next to your white shirt. Your skin reminds me of your dad. Your mind reminds me of me.

I say to you, "Did you have fun yesterday swimming?" You nod, but I can tell from your face - you are far, far away.

So, in the silence I confirm, "We all had fun."

You say with that delightfully whimsical smile of yours (the one I will have carved in my memory until I die - and then still),

"Yes, but I wanted to fly and I couldn't. My wings got all wet."

When these incredibly exotic words tumble so easily out of your innocent young mouth I wonder, Where is it exactly you travel when you go?

Because I so desperately want to go there, too.


Jae said...

Your writing often gives me goose bumps! :) Loving it. Thank you!

Monica said...

you're welcome. glad you enjoy it. and just as you have made your exit - boo :o( - have changed things up a bit and we will see where this road leads. :o)