And when I bathe you, you lie still
and smile and show me how and where
to touch (there are places I have
never touched ’til now). We laugh
when I say (I always say)
your armpits smell like chicken soup
(as they always have, and you
do not believe me, then or now).
You are a fledgling sparrow,
a nestling here. I almost
hear the thumping
of your heart.
Don’t be afraid,
my little bird.
Don’t fly away.
Stay with me a little longer.