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He’s the quiet one.
The one whose speech slows him down.
So many words come out at once,
sometimes the sense gets muddled.
So we just are
together without words.
His grandma mentioned to me the other day
that he wanted to know about God.
We haven’t talked about it.
Wanted him to have the space
to make up his own mind.
So there
in the housewares aisle
I ask him
if he believes in God.
“Yes,”
he says.
“Why?”
“Because I was thinking about life
and how it has to come from somewhere.”
I know the feeling, kid.
The only word I could find
for hearing the first heartbeat
on the ultrasound
is miraculous.