Catching Plane

Checked baggage.
Shoes in tub.
Gate found.
Time to spare.

We roam the airport.
I reach for your hand,
as if you are still three.
You pull away and grimace.
After all, you’re 11 years and 12 days.

I choose People magazine over Us,
Reese’s over Snickers,
glance at you,
looking at caps.

When was it, exactly
that I put you down
out of my arms
for the very last time?

“People with children…”
they call.
We board.
Baggage stowed.
Seat belts clicked.
Electronics off.

You place your head against me;
asleep before we depart.

Note to self: Remember this; it could be a last time kind of moment.

Summer Gives Me a Reason

Cooling off during a hot day in downtown Oklahoma CitySummer gives me a reason
to walk barefoot, no laces to restrict me,
no socks around my ankles suffocating my flesh.

Summer gives me a reason
to wiggle my toes and feel the odd
coolness of the grass between each one.

Summer gives me a reason
to walk on the beach in the middle of the day
pretending I can withstand the suffering
and the pain of the wrath beneath my feet.

Summer gives me a reason
to dangle my feet in cool water
and flick it on someone if I feel tempted.

Summer gives me a reason
to lift my feet and relax in a hammock,
or tip toe while I dance in the rain.

I may seem strangely untamed,
perhaps somewhat insane,
but summer gives me a reason
to be me again.