Give me, today, a moment
to hug him goodbye. Let me rub
my cheek against his face, feel
his body slacken. A moment
to frame the freckle farm
at his temple, dark cowlick,
thin ridge of his shoulders. Hold
our child tight for ten days, buckle
his seatbelt, keep his bedtime, sit
on the floor to play. Bring
him back older but
the same as before.
Jennifer Dracos-Tice is a high school teacher and writer who lives in Atlanta with her wife and kids. She has published poetry in Something’s Brewing, an anthology from Kind of a Hurricane Press. She is also the recipient of the 2012 Poetry Prize from the Atlanta Writers Club. Jen can be reached at email@example.com.