Son, you're 4 years old.
We walk home from the park
in the rain
taking tiny steps.
Your little, wet, cold hand grasps mine.
"How are you doing?" I ask.
"I'm ok," you say, sniffing in boogers.
I wipe your nose.
We get soaked but eventually make it home.
This time has moved so fast.
In another 4 years, you won't want to hold my hand anymore.
I try to hold onto these fleeting moments.
They flow through me.
____________
Driving into work
I'll be gone from 7am to 9pm
I see a thick layer of smog as I approach the city.
Poison that will fill my lungs.
I think about all of the chemicals that enter my body on a daily basis just to get by.
Caffeine, alcohol, other medications, deodorant
Even the air I breathe is killing me.
Driving into work,
I have too much time for my mind to turn on itself.
Sometimes when I'm stuck in traffic,
I feel like I'm being buried alive.
"You can do it," I tell myself.
What we do is very important
and I'm lucky to have been chosen to help bring these stories into the world.
____________
Sometimes we'll go to the beach.
After playing,
We'll just stand together where the waves break at our feet.
I feel the ancient subatomic particles
from the sun
warming my face and chest.
I feel the ancient subatomic particles
from the ocean
cooling my feet.
We stand there
feeling comforted by the earth's heartbeat.
I wish this could last forever.
