My mind turns cartwheels
when I think of those little feet,
hot and sweaty, the toes lined up
like cannoli arranged on a dessert tray.
 
Only a memory now, my sons’ feet, not exactly
barges, more like paddle boats off to new
adventures. Those young men would be
embarrassed, yes, mortified, if they knew
of my sentimental musings.
 
But a mother’s memory is what it needs to be
to hold the beloveds close. I remember
their belly-laughs, how their tummies
jiggled with laughter when I kissed those toes.


© Lois Parker Edstrom.
Used with the author’s permission.