A Plea
By Elizabeth Smith Tomorrow my son will sleep alone in his crib. Soon he will walk without holding my hand, buy the coolest jeans with his own change, and drive away in our old car that today is still new. When that day comes, will the world consume him? A big-time career, a lover, A sinister something I cannot name? Will he remember to call for counsel, for a laugh, instead of for money? He will forget tonight his hair tickled the crook of my elbow. He will forget he dozed with his lips flat, his cheeks full with my milk. But I pray he will not forget tonight I am the only world he knows.
