a child holds on
to the hem of his
mother's shorts looking
up at her with
his dewy black
eyes as they walk
together in the
moist sun.
he doesn't have to
say he loves her.
ten years from now
the child will stop
talking to her and
he'll wish she'd
just leave him alone.
he will refuse to admit
that he loves her.
twenty years from
now he'll realize he
took her for granted
and will call her on
the phone to apologize.
he'll hope she knows
that he's always loved her.
–Published on Lucid Moon's website