he can count to infinity and
doesn’t follow the rules,
this perfectly mad boy of mine.
his thin legs are black
and blue testaments to
jumping from heights far too
great for any six-year-old.
he is ferociously, terrifyingly fearless.
inquisitive to the point of exhaustion.
he’d pick an argument with the moon
for following him home – and win.
he loves deeply
is feral-angry
cries rivers
curls into himself,
small and fragile as a bird.
he sings in tune every time,
remembers the lyrics to every
song he's heard just once -
climbs to the Everest point
of every playground and
bellows mama, look! from the very top.
often when he sleeps
I place a hand on his back
and follow his breath, the
only time I catch him still
and I cry
with admiration for his wild soul
with fearfulness of his wild ways
with pride that I am his mother.
Magic Mama 