Poem: On Growing Up

I sometimes misread the poems you send me,
carried away occasionally upon a new
and unexpected voyage of meaning,
and arrive at next line breathless, exhilarated
until I recognize my mistake and nod once more
at the sound progression of your logic
sighing into the steam of my coffee.

It reminds me of when we were kids,
when huddled beneath a blanket you pointed
toward the stars. “That’s Cassiopeia!”
you whispered, pressing close
and tracing its shape with your finger
until looking past I watched one shining point
open into many- infinite figures
in the night’s geometry- and smiled.

You smiled too, thinking I’d seen
what you’d set out to show me, and together
we laughed until our eyes
were moist as the grass beneath us, content
in our understanding of one another.