Little Man

Most people's hearts live in their chests

and beat beneath their ribcage like the wings of birds.

Like windmills making sunshine, they keep forget-me-nots growing

create just enough heart-space

to keep the world turning.

But my heart has never known the feel of feathers.

Its windmills run on moonbeams that provide light to the stars.

My heart starts on the inside, grows out to my skin,

and beats like a time-bomb, tick-tick-ticking 

from the outside in.

Opened to the world with a hole to my center

my heart is a wishing well: drop in a penny

I'll give you a quarter-full of hope and a dime of praise,

but some hearts house sheets, big as the night,

that threaten the spark of 2-year-old boys

and those hearts house wishing wells

that my quarters and dimes can't begin to fill up.

Their outstretched hands let love drop through their fingers

and we watch as the coins I hand them

become litter on the ground.

But the darker the night

the brighter the light beneath that sheet

and some days I'm a wishing well,

but some days I'm a star,

and I want you to know:

I'm fighting for you, Little Guy.

I'm one light in the darkness

pouring some love out into this world

while picturing your face.

I'm allowing my hope to course from the inside out

pulsating on fear and hard decisions;

I'm fighting for you, Little Man.

I'm wishing on wishing wells

'cause even with dreams and education

degrees and good intentions,

when the wound is this deep

it's impossible to patch up the bleed.

I slipped love like pennies in your pockets

held your face between my hands

and looked in your eyes, hoping my gaze could save you.

I tied your shoes as if tying hope to your person could give you wings to fly away and

snapped the belts on your stroller

as if fastening prayers to the lips of your god.

And then I let you go with a grandmother whose heart read

"closed for repairs."

And then I let you go to a mother with cacti in her wishing well heart

and a hand that pushes away my offerings.

But I've got your pennies, Little Guy.

I'm holding on to your wishes and dreams.

I've housed them with your forget-me-nots that I'll water

to ensure they keep growing

'cause I swear

with every centimeter of my too big heart

that you, Little Man, are priceless,

and I've seen your spark, you--

you're smart, Little Man,

I see it in your round, brown eyes,

the way you curled your body around mine

and wouldn't let go.

Your potential

is big as the moon, and I can't promise

that this dark time is just an eclipse,

but I'm wishing

on every penny I have left to give

that by the time you turn three

you'll be able

to live.