Today I was a magician. An inventor.
No, god. Yes,
god. I saw him running to me,
arms outstretched, tears pulled
across his cheeks like pink
r u b b e r b a n d s
ready to snap
into anger or stretch
into an ocean
of three-year-old despair,
never ending. He jostled his way across
miles of arms and knees,
miles of desert sand,
miles of bombs, of course I mean rubber kickballs,
to arrive in my open arms.
As I lifted him from the battlefield,
he put his arms around my neck
and buried his soft cheeks into hiding.
It was my turn to absorb
the abyss. I instinctively hummed
a tune so sweet, so new
it could have, would have
stopped a thousand wars.
But this song, this breath was made just for him,
in that moment, soon
the only remnant of his sadness,
a meandering of fragrant tears
across my cheek.
A poetry prompt from Three Word Wednesday.