We arrive home after a busy afternoon
to a sunlight-drenched living room and front hall.
The boys were decorating the front door with hearts
and letters and left a kitchen stool
sitting in the burst of rays filtering through the glass.
Unexpected to my oldest, I walk over to the stool,
sit down and exhale into the our space,
soaking up every bit of warmth through the window.
He looks up at me through the brown hair sweeping over his eyes,
smiles a half smile
and asks what I'm doing.
I say ...
He scoots closer on the floor
and I hear him exhale, too,
deep into the lateness of the afternoon.
We breathe together.
And I know another little piece of what the writer meant
when he said that Mary treasured up these things in her heart.