Quiet, Mama

I should get out of bed,
make tidy checks on my to-do list,
but my little guy found me here.
We’re huddled under the sheet
hiding from the seeking dog.
Quiet, Mama.

His days slide away from me, one
by one.
Immutable design erases knee dimples,
flattens cheeks, asserts:
Do it self.
Independence in increments.

Already people exist
who recognize him and not me.
I see where this is going.
Tomorrow he will be
a deep voice on the other end
of the phone once a week.

So we squeal when Daisy noses under our cover
and hide again from whatever comes.