Oh, my son, my own, my ode.

You are my heart.
Yes, walking around outside my body, as someone once famously said.
I always took that to mean an extension of having your heart in your throat – that heady mix of glee and fear and awe. Like watching a sky diver knife through the clouds, over and over in an endless crackling movie loop, and never getting to see them land safely.
When it comes to your kids (which is what that famous person was talking about, after all), that’s what I always thought that line meant.

And then, there was you.
Walking, for you, was so passé (even when you couldn’t yet).
You don’t walk around outside my body – you leap, pound, race.
You do no tread lightly upon this earth.
Instead, you stake it. Like the flag upon the moon, proclaiming your gloriousness for all to see. Forever altering the landscape.
You are my scarred, stretched, stomping heart,
taking flight outside my body, never to land.

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