Wednesday, 16 March 2011
I love your smile.
It knocks me out.
Sometimes I try not to smile when you do.
Not to laugh when I hear you laugh.
But it never works.
Fresh. Powerful. Infinite innocence.
Like play and hope and spring sunshine.
It's a certain breathless fear and the all the far, far future smiling back at me.
It's love, that smile.
Ease. Mischief. Movement.
To sit on a cold beach in harsh sunlight.
Watching you watch the sand thread through your fingers.
And you smile.
I think: this is the brightest gift.
The best thing
Anybody has ever given me.
It's wonder at this moment.
Laughter the next.
And your laughter:
Some days it follows me
A breeze of joy or a wild wind. Whipping around the house.
Later I gently pour water over your head in the bathtub and you laugh
It sounds like you're crying.
I look at your wet hair clinging to the back of your chubby neck.
Bent over a toy in the water.
And I feel vulnerable.
Like anything that hurt you would tear right through me too.
Suddenly you don't look as strong as your smile.
Or the sound of your laughter.
Will you be alright someday out there in that big, big, crumbling world?
It alarms me.
The idea that you might not be greeted with love everywhere you go.