we sit on the bed, his feet dangeling off the edge of my life.
his soft fingers dig into my neck as he tells me of his day.
i no longer pay attention to his words, just his voice as he coo's his baby language.
stiffling the entire room with his mannerism.
beautiful child with dancing tree eyes,
soft branch skin,
reaching for the short stumpy tresses plaited neatly apon my head.
twirling around on my lap,
ceasing just once to observe the look behind my eyes.
continue twirling little one.
he will continue to make my legs into a private playing field,
until he becomes a fading cloud of browness,
ready to be formed again in God's hand.
finger in mouth,
softly Nafiq is cooing his charm.

©2000Tameron Brathwaite

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