for J
in the
beginning we
hid ourselves in a tent
joined like paper dolls we lay
touching
and then
our second year
brought him -- could we have known
how incomplete we were without
this child?
three years
in, still growing
little white shoots pushing
upward, ever hopeful, toward
the sun
our fourth
bound us like a
leather belt -- held us up
snugly, without fear of slipping
under
five years
and we have built
a house -- each year before
a sturdy wall, a roof above
our heads
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