Love Letter #42: Blue

Gentle soul,
my baby boy; quiet,
quirky, standoffish,
except when I sing.
When you smile,
the skies open
and I am flooded
with a Mother’s love
for her gentle lamb.

Those brown eyes,
they bring me to tears;
sweet freckled face,
sometimes serious,
always loving, caring;
innocence envelops you,
my angel, artist, thinker
in a baseball cap;
our special gift.

You hit the ground running,
bouncing, Bubba,
silly, bundle of joy.
The sound of your voice
leaves chests beating soft,
like your thoughts,
beaming with imagination,
sweet, like your heart.



Sunday’s Child


My January gift, wrinkled,
ruffled, wrapped in blue,
sweet solemn little bundle, quiet.
Pale, like me, predictable as stars.

I didn’t know why you never cried
or why your eyes wouldn’t meet mine,

but, I sang to you anyway.


At three,

they used medical terms to label you,
told me all the things you would never do.
To them, you were a diagnosis
in a medical book. a statistic,
another autistic child in the system.

but, to me, you were my heart,
my beautiful raven haired boy.



is your thirty-fourth birthday.
You still brighten my day
with just a smile

and you don’t need words
to say I love you
when that look in your eyes
is a novel in the making,
a celebration of life,
from an innocent’s perspective.
This may not be poetic,
but, you are;

my angel boy,
my January gift.