Dry Heat

I See

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by Malka Daskal

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In a crowded auditorium

Little faces, hands and feet

Laughing, yelling, stomping sneakers

The din pushes in

Space is limited

Air is rationed

But my son hums with collective energy

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Then, distracted as only a six-year-old can be

A brutal smash

His perfect face, an offending pillar

The impact sends him reeling

Back into me, two steps behind

His eyes look into my own

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I see

Toothless morning grins illuminating an unfamiliar path,

Anxious waiting for chubby, stubby legs to do their job

Screams and bites and tears, a contest of will whose prize is exhaustion

Piles of tiny animal print clothing, pom-pom winter hats, and soft soled shoes

Diaper cream and doctor visits

Careful swing pushes and heart-in-my-throat monkey bar attempts

Heaps of plastic bricks and hours of creating alternate worlds

First day of school head held high bravery

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His eyes look into my own

All sound has evaporated

In a space of less than a moment, I see

I see because I have always been there to see

Worse than the pain is the fear of humiliation

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I pull him into me

His face warms and wets my chest

His delicate shoulders tremble slightly

His winged shoulder blades feel fragile as clay

His hair smells of sweat and youth

His sobs make no sound

There is only the two of us

And no one has noticed

But I see