the lunchtime visit at my mom's workplace,
that went too long,
that ended in peanut-butter-smeared, poopy-diaper-stinking
the suppertime barbecue we'd planned for all of our son's schoolmates,
that no one came to,
that ended in a hot, muggy july void of playdates and a big brother needing
the day's end decaf-coffee date for two trusting mamas,
that happened only once,
that ended in one artisan returning to city roots and another
with freezer food.
the highschool friendships of wide eyes and foolish faith talks,
that were only experiments,
that ended in, "see you later" and, "facebook me" and,
"i'll call you".
afternoon sky whooshes through the porch screens
and spills into the hall,
silhouetting a baby and a tricycle.
they fall with a bang,
and a grunt,
and he's back on top,
riding those three wheels until he knows how.
he feeds me hope, warm and fragrant, in little fingers outstretched,
as i try to unclasp some crumbs from my own fisted soul.
and this is how we will grow together...
hoping, hoping, hoping.