He unties the aging string
around the shoebox marked “Son,”
gently thumbs through Polaroids,
breath catching with each tender moment:
frogs, caterpillars, muddy feet,
handfuls of plucked grass falling like snow;
each blade of green in the boy’s chubby fingers
a reason to smile.
They must have grinned a thousand times that day.
Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved