Learning To Remember

He held my hand on the
way home and I was
in heaven. We were
together in the backseat,
happy to see each
other after school after
a week apart. He was
talking excitedly and I
couldn’t help reaching out.

At first I pretended
I was just warming
his cold fingers, but then
we kept holding on—
contented to hold
hands and chatter away
about the color of passing
cars and his new sneaker-shoes.
His vocabulary is limited
but his brilliant being
shines without constraint.

In the back seat, as his
mother drives us all home,
miraculous life passes
between and through us
as if it were the most
ordinary thing in the world.

He already knows there is
nothing else to wait for,
while the rest of us are
still learning to remember.