Even as he sleeps
pouted open lips,
and chubby, a boy.
I can picture
this boy even at six months
hitting the weight of a spinning softball
with the crack of a short bat,
his ample arms soft and strong.
Flinging down the bat and running hard
Toot toot puff puff
a heavy silver train
past first base
and then second.
The round back of his head one day
maybe showcased in a bowl cut with bangs.
How will his half-Asian hair play out.
Front forehead button nose pout.
Dungarees, frogs, soldiers lined up
hollerin’ “Mr. Wilson! Hey, Mr. Wilson!”
but in Japanese.
Taking airplane rides like these, only bigger
more like his old man
and not breastfeeding—
this six month old little boy,
Our love, distilled.
he’s at about 8 months now & full of giggles, squeals, & wanting to feed himself, wanting no part in mush.
he wants whole foods & standing up. he’s a love/ in love with his big sis. xoxo