He squeezes my arm as we round the corner.
He doesn't want to let me go. I don't want to put him down, but I have to. I have to.
Keep moving. Don't show it. Don't even think about it.
Big smiles, mommy.
It's your job. Your real job. Look Happy.
The climber! I say with the false enthusiasm.
As if I've never witnessed such a grand adventure
made up of carpet and wood polished smooth and steps
and never had to hand over half my heart
to somewhere it didn't want to be
while stuffing the other half deep, deep down
where no one, not even me
can see that it's brusied.
He doesn't bite.
His head is tucked into my shoulder.
His perfect strawberry curls peek out,
ever playful and flirtatious,
even if he refuses to be.
