You taught me the value of staying silent,
fingers entwined in locks of hair, listening
to slow traffic, a ceiling spider, your pulse.
I’ve learned that breathing in our child’s
sweaty brow is a coveted prize, like the ring
of an anthem as ribbon loops around your neck.
In a blink, they will be grown and gone,
but I’m counting on you to sort the pills
of my old age, guide me round the bed rails.
Lie with me, brush hair from my forehead,
knead my soft belly where your heart resides,
wet my parched heart with your quiet strength.
A Word With Laurie at Real Toads = ZEN (Meditation)
