My Middle Child
It's the eve
of his ninth year:
He gangles up to
my rocking chair;
A slender shifting spright
with a sprig for me…
Flowers.
I lean into them inhaling
and the dog becomes a pup
jumping eagerly over up
to take a wagging sniff.
Even the cat comes alive,
languidly lifting from my lap,
delicately tasting a whiff
of whatever aromatic scents
Swirl outside.
2001 Reflect
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