Stands

I will watch this football game without anxiety,
clenched fists and teeth.

I will see the whole field, take in the entire place,
no squinting for his number or legs underneath.

I can hear the wind blowing,
remarks from the fans.

He is injured, sidelined, safer than he'd been.
Casted, put together barely managing not to beg to be let in.

Understanding all this as I see my son,
this man among boys.

Certain a sadness has settled in his growing frame, across his chest
that keeps him from catching, gripping and throwing with the rest.

His right hand is casted, a twisted prize from his play.

High school games are ended as quick and tough as they began.

I will watch this Saturday football game with no curses caught in my chest.

I can see without worry catching my every breath.

Noticed

Looking down as she whispers,
"Can I tell you somesin'?"
little voices ask
eyes large, blinking slowly
gaze steady
hesitation ours
trust in the answer
allows the inquiry
from voices so small
tinny, stretched
straining to hear
bending to deny distance
another hears whining,
a squeak to be silenced
irritation
for those of us that look down
cup the chin
part the hair
catch the fear
are privy to a world
of delicate wonder
easy injury
simple truths
smoothing a softer place
where answers may be difficult
solutions sticky
yet presence necessary
other adults disappointing
their choices selfish
their anger theirs
the chin in my palm
the only thing real
"Yes. Of course you can."
kneeling, mind swarming with worries lent
hands hold tiny fisted fingers
calm and open them
lead them slowly, gently, carefully
to the officer waiting to hear those same truths