CALL ME BELOVED

Once, I was a boy; I was smaller,
I’d curl up against my father under
blankets impossibly warm, suffocating
and counting heartbeats but exhilarated,
those last times I believed he could keep me
safe from monsters, if I earned it.
I could be good enough.

What have I done to earn this gentleness?
That stack of books by my son’s bedside,
the curls of his hair stuck in the pages
as I turn the lights off at night.
It was when he curled against me
that I realized how far I had come –
and when the tears came freely, I
understood. Now I would keep us both
safe.