17 September 2018


this weekend began on the floor of the nursery (blocks and books scattered like stars, spinning louis and ella on vinyl, listening for papa's keys in the door, baby's cheeks as round and rosy as september apples) and closed with a sleepy drive towards manhattan (skyline glittering, calling us home). in between, it was: two birthday parties (one in new jersey for christopher's mama/francis' grandma, one on the upper east side for our little friend mimi), fat slices of cake, a simmering pot of farmers market vegetables and salty broth and herbes de provence, park bench nurses, park bench saxophone concerts, tacos shared between papa and boy while mama sat down to write, a trip to the zoo (and francis' captivation with giraffes and alpacas), kisses for great-grandma georgia, a letter from a friend read with first coffee, the hanging of shelves in baby's room, the holding of hands in the car, and a single, dimpled-hand-clutched balloon, baby's first. it was a bustling bouquet of hours and i think i'll be filling the french press all day long, but seeing my christopher off to the monday morning train, i heard but one thought in the space fallen quiet between his footsteps: there is never enough weekend.

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