Our Great Cloud of Witnesses
In all my efforts to gather them into myself, to fold them back up for keeps like a love letter in my heart, every day is a pulling away. I have 4 boys, each turning man by the spoonful of oatmeal. I nestle one completely in my arms, he pulls back and seeps the milky smile, looks around the room for his brothers.
I know that already at 8 months he aims to follow them all the way out my door. Right now they swing in the trees, high enough to give mothers heart attacks. Yesterday they ran on rusty tin and said bad words on purpose.