a poem a day for a year #249

by Amy Turn Sharp


the baby sits on my lap and we talk about things
he's really into biting me
nipping
some kisses
a slightly abusive love spread
doesn't matter
he's my last tiny
end of littles
so I tell him stories to distract him
I make up poems called 13 ways of looking at milk
and he laughs so loud and with so much joy
that he falls to the floor
I pull him back to me and start a litany
words fall from my lips
and he says them right back
the air between our mouths
hot and small
he's all the best parts of me still
I have a little window like this left
a little world where no one else lives
where we are the monarchy
where we are kings
and I his queen