lent day 20

(published a day late b/c wordpress was down or something.)

almost seventeen
his head nestles
between my cheek and shoulder

like when he was five.
Now each time he leans into me I know
I might be saying good
bye to these moments

which makes each time
he seeks out my embrace
a minor miracle of sorts.

Anticipating future drought, every
time it happens I make the maternal
version of the sign of the cross:
a kiss on the crown of his head.

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