Henry

For my grandson, on his birthday.

this time last year, i met you for the first time;

your eyes shut and you a warm loaf of bread in your mother’s arms,

wrapped tight, perfectly risen.

i fell in love with you like breathing,

while you slept, and

when you woke, i saw my father in your blue eyes,

resurrected. i cried some, but

now that i know you personally,

my affection leans more goofball than sentimental.

the truth is, you are my actual heart.

come evening, i don’t mind when you go to bed. you need sleep to grow,

and i need it to dance with you in my arms around the kitchen,

to watch you learn the world wide-eyed,  

smallest trial by smallest error.

today’s #365,  sweet boy,

so we celebrate, but it’s been like this since you got here;

you, the gift,

bringing the very best present.