My Child

by Emily Lawrence

My child finds the smallest things

and puts them in his mouth.

A crumble of brick

Speck of soil

A tiny spider

What kind of spider is that small?

He holds each discovery up to show me

He wants to taste

I think I’m supposed to say no.

Before, our world was larger

But not truly more

I don’t know how to compare

It became smaller, shrinking

As other people suffered.

The morning light coming in one window,

The afternoon sun another.

Plants unfurling, propagating.

I think the hostas grow two inches each day.

I think I’m supposed to be missing something.