Scout finds his water dish
empty, he reminds me to
fill it by batting it around.
Like every other toddler
he eagerly loses himself
in all the glorious noise:
he's cocking his head
and bouncing his dish--
my little drummer pup.
Now I bring him
a new bowl of water
and he flings himself
into it, lapping, slurping,
I'm stroking his head,
and my old body forgets
it did not birth him--breasts
spread like wings, tingling
like they did when I fed babies.
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