A grape, a worm, a kaleidoscope

I noticed the way you cover
your mouth, but I said nothing,
though I recalled that such a gesture
signals insecurity, or so I was told.
But, I knew it wasn’t enough simply to say,
“Don’t cover your mouth” or
“You have a beautiful smile. Why hide it?”
So, I said nothing, only watched, worried.

You used to always be climbing
into my lap. You used to make sound
effects wherever you went, “Pew—Pew—
Pew—He shooting you.” You taught me how
to marvel at not the universe, but the pebbles of it:
a grape, a worm, a kaleidoscope.
If I’d ever known these things, I’d long forgot.

Hand over your mouth, I fear
you are forgetting, and I want to tie this poem
around your finger.