by Matt Escott

When you were small enough to carry
I tried to catch you
To lay hold for one fleeting moment of the
Sweetness of your frames, fresh 
With the expectation of goodness
That fruit I feared to tell you is
Rarer than a magic more than
Tricks of the hand and a command to look
Somewhere other than here.

You were quicksilver and fever dream
Too slippery for any simile to pin
Like a fish writhing for home, eager to begin and 
Squirming free at the insistence of your being.

I could only ever catch you
Surrendered in sleep, creeping across bedroom floors
Barefoot by command to stand and gaze on
The strange sight of your stillness
Struck dumb by your mumbled dreams
The careful fold of your eyelids.

I’d lift you to the hollows of my chest
Holding you like wounds you fear
Will never fully heal
Arms shivering with your glory
The tipped scale that could measure its weight
Found only in my heart.

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Matt Escott lives in Toronto with his wife and 6-year-old twins. For the past 10 years, he has worked with youth experiencing homelessness, and is currently developing a mentorship program for youth in foster care. He has been published in Ekstasis, OneArt, Stone Poetry Quarterly, and Heart of Flesh.