we water the flowers every evening, my gardener in his diaper and bare feet with his green watering can, and he holds it ever so careful, the spout, over pansy and peony and he begs for more once the soil’s drunk.
but tonight is different. tonight he stands still, watching me water, the green can dangling from little hand and i look at him, and he squeals, his face lighting up like a yellow flower and he runs at me, arms out, and hugs with his whole body, and it’s love, being realized by a child.
as one learns to ride a bike, he learns love over and over, this awestruck standing, then pummeling self at me as if he cannot get there fast enough. him, falling into feelings with all of his 18-month body, learning it as he has the curve of the gardening spout, the angle of the staircase, the round of a ball, the slide of a spoon, only this, grasping onto love, is a slippery thing and one that can overwhelm. so much so it sends baby-heart hurtling across the patio.
God descends in the unabashed wrap of dimpled arms. i hold onto my tiny angel and beg love, be good to him.
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