by Christie M. Buchovecky

The night my son learned the word
we checked every window,
tiny hand gripping my finger,
tugging me along
with a force to rival gravity.

Pull, point, repeat—
eyes brightening
with each confirmation.

He brought it to the table:
bowl, button, Babybel, balloon.
They all answered in turn.

At bedtime he insisted
on polka-dot pajamas
and the book we would read:
Good Night,
cow jumping over the—

As I laid him down,
he whispered it once more,
hand seeking my face:
his light,
reflected
in the dark.

Christie M. Buchovecky is a Maryland-based poet and scientist. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Variant Literature, Penumbra Online, and Book of Matches (translations). She is completing a collection that reimagines myth and inheritance through voices of transformation and reckoning. Read more of her work at cmbuchovecky.com.