Since today is my first little boy’s birthday, I thought I’d post something up about when he was a baby. Oh, how he became my muse.
A fuzzy owl by his cheek,
a partner on the other.
he stares up, oblivious,
then feels their triangle ears.
Milk? No. Soft thing?
“Owls!” he seems to yell
when they deny him milk.
But what other soft things
could exist
other than nipples,
blankets,
and sleep?
Fuzzy owls,
the way he yowls
at their fuzziness.
Would make one think he’s
telling them
all his baby thoughts.
Author T.S. Lowe 