Stokkseyri

My boy's got a heart like a beating drum, and when we are close I hear it thund'rous in my ear - boom boom boom - and when I look up I see the lightning in his hair and the hail on his skin and the rain in his eyes. The storm that builds in his veins will sometimes consume him head to toe, and I find myself caught- a leaf in his cyclone. I know he sees me steady. The eye of the hurricane.

My boy's knees and fingers curve 'round like a spider's, and he walks spindly, segmented. The deliberate, delicate padding of something too big to be small. Sometimes in the mornings I can see the puppy fat on his belly and shoulder blades, and I want to keep him safe and whole. Warm. This world is not built for big-little people. I want to guard him like a child and praise him like an angel - but the atmosphere inside my heart is as charged and changeable as the world he inhabits.

Take him away from here, I want to shout. Bless him holy and lead him in to the sunshine,
For surely no soul so precious was made to be bruised.

I will love him until the oceans of my body are dry, and the grey clouds of his elbows have rolled away.

Let me be there with him,
When the storm breaks.