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