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?
An 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.