Tuesday, December 21, 2010


I'm at ground level, cupping chin in one hand, maneuvering toy lizard with the other. {It's a chameleon, Mama. And he's the doctor.}

Littlest one can't quite play this game, but she's about to make off with a fistful of reptiles anyway. She presses one hand into the small of my back to steady herself and she's off, leaving behind a trail of snakes. She can't carry them all. Her hands are too small.

The fabric of my shirt dents inward just a little, piquing my sense of touch. It's invisible, that hand print, but it presses still into my skin. I close my eyes and carefully pour memory into that hollow, casting this moment into something I can hold.