Baby, Go Soft
He blows bubbles
thin fingers gripping the wand and huffs hard
the bubbles reflect the overhead lighting, refracting
and I see visions discriminating themselves from the soapy sheen
how many times we’ve blown bubble before
and we’ll blow bubble after
or I’ll put my lips together, paused to blow
he’ll learn through imitation
though my fingers gripping the wand are bigger
and the lips hold in harsher sounds
that’s the natural roughness of surviving life, sometimes it pays to just be more gentle.
