the smell of his hair

sometimes, before i can stop it
the image of his blue mouth and chin
that little touch of cold about his nose,
it appears in my head.
the weight of him fills my arms.
my soft baby.

now he would be one.
now he would be two.
flesh of my flesh.

the moment ends and i'm back, washing dishes, folding laundry, casting on. there should be more spoons to wash, there should be another snow suit hanging, one more hat to knit.