broken

to be heartbroken is a normal thing for a human.

There is a crowd of us, crazy with love and loud music and dancing with crippled hands and disjointed spines. They are the beautiful ones.


(Avery.)
I spoon feed him, his eyes watching every transaction between the bowl and the spoon

If I have even one piece of cabbage falling off the edge of it, he waits till I correct it, knowing that if I don't it is bound to find a place on his shirt. This is the respect he has for himself. He takes his time with the chewing. I cannot shovel it in like the workers  must with their hands so full of so many children to feed. I try to look at him with every bite. I try to learn what he wants and needs because he may only get this week of that.

 I learn, though he cannot speak, that the spoon needs to be very full or he will not take it into his mouth. Looking down at the piece of rice I irresponsibly let fall off the spoon, and then up at me,  he waits.

I collect it. Add it to the orange bowl. He smiles.

He is talking to me with his eyes, so round with warmth and bursting with water. He waters me, as I feed him. I am a student.

This week, is a gift for both him and I.  I water him, like I would my plant, and he smiles like I wish my plants would. There is nothing like this.

And so, I am heartbroken because him, and I cannot describe the growing inside of me after the last two months.

(I have never been more excited to be broken.)