June 16–22 ❘ Small Things

Small Things

When you were a child,
you drew close and held me still
with your small voice,
soft as a puppy nuzzling in
for caress and kiss.
You wanted to grow down,
you said, not up—
to be a baby again, always
swaddled and warm,
just this side of sleep.

Against your word, you grew
year by year, bit by bit,
sprouting gangly limbs
and facial fuzz, then whiskers
and just enough wisdom
to carry you away from me
on to bigger things.

But even from here I can see
it’s the little things in you
that catch light like the mother lode—
how you offer a word
and gift a smile to shift
someone’s heart,
someone’s whole world.

• Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry

• Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com