Seedling

And when he lost his smile
I fumbled through the baby
pictures looking for evidence
of sunlight, of darts of yellow
spray flooded behind him,
the spread of his lips
the balled up skin
on cheeks, the way joy
seemed so natural then.
I flipped through birthdays,
play, pose after pose,
the way his smile
seemed to disappear,
vanish in his stiff cheeks
in his blank stare
as if the days spun silence,
whittled glow,
as if he lost his ability to know
what to do with joy,
that sparkling prism.
I wonder if he knows
its stuck inside of him
light pushing at the seams.

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Categories: Poetry

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