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Bless him and his hours of idleness.
Bless him and his empty pockets.
Remember him as an infant
barely filling a corner of his crib,
He saw happies everywhere–
the flat smile of a hot dog bun
a bread mouth he’d rather talk to than eat…
He’d been crying.
Now, I’m back.
His mouth, overflowing
with breast milk, drips over
my stomach, when he stops
sucking to look at me, relieved.
is nothing like hunting snipe,
though I would if my autistic son
would eat them.
because I always get lost
or our car breaks down
or I oversleep
or write the directions wrong
we always arrive late…
The summer clouds first crack, then burst.
Earthworms emerge, seeking air.
They are there
when the storm has ended, stranded…