breathe them in,etch their sweetness on my mind. Jack’s essence is bread,
a delicious yeasty perfume that’sparticularly noticeable between the
vulnerability of his small downy shoulder and the crook of his curl covered
neck. He’s my Pillsbury Dough Boy. Smoothing Victoria's covers,
I tuck Woofie closer to her. She had spaghetti with garlic and oil for
dinner, and brushed before bed, yet her breath smells like attar of roses
and has from the day she was born. I always find myself praying for
them, wordlessly and passionately, in the dark before I leave. Please,
keep them safe. Grant them happy lives. Give me time with
them, please. I neither know nor care whom I petition. I
feel such love for them my solar plexus aches; something so strong I
could die from it. Now inextricably linked, I doubt I could ever, more than
momentarily, not feel their tug. Exterior, yet part of my very core,
invisible cords moor them to me. It startles me to notice I haven’t
thought of them for a measureable length of time.
They are the best thing I will ever do.
