Broken/Open Hearted

late on Saturday morning I marvel

at my son's broad and angular shoulders

which look more like my own every day,

as do his large ears and his mischievous smile

lying on an angle he fills the bed

that was once huge

his hobbity feet hang over the edge

no longer pale and plump

before I quietly pad my way

out of the room

I pull the drapes closed

to keep out the sun so he can sleep a little longer

then, with the stealth of a thief

I kiss his forehead and touch his hair

the latch pauses and then ticks

when I shut the door