Box Full of Crayons

Coloring Book.
Colorless and flat, smiling
Faces that lack depth,
Drawn with thick and thin; solid
and broken lines, stare
from black and white pages.

Crayons.
His little hands grasp big crayons;
Smudges colors on the pictures
all over the pages
of the coloring book
Of my life on the floor.

Out of the Crib.
Your face and mine blended
In his delicate face
That brings depth
Into my eyes.
His laughter resounds
Through the walls.
His cry wakes me up
In the middle of the night.
But it doesn’t matter.
I get up and prepare
A bottle of milk.
Now he walks.
Now he talks his baby talk
And fills our world.

Boxes of Milk.
His fragile little body
Close to mine; his tiny hands
Stroke my face;
Your hand in mine
We’re holding him.
Inside the cupboard
Are boxes of milk stored
In exchange of the little luxuries
We decided to let go.

Box full of crayons.
Coloring books scattered
On the floor. He sits in the middle
With a box full of crayons.
He opens it up with his tiny hands
And holds the crayons
That brings all the colors.