High Five

You asked us for a High Five.

He extended a Low Five.

A smile. The first today.

You met his Low Five

and you crawl into the nook of his arm

burrowing instinctively into the bed.

No fear of breaking his bones.

To you he is not brittle.

No hesitation even though he’s just

regurgitated his food.

You do that all the time too.

No apologies for asking to be fed.

You can manage a yogurt drop

at a time while he

falls asleep between

teaspoons of nestum

when he feeds himself.

Who needs teeth?

A gesture, a sound, and a look at the right person

is all you both need.

You make your own songs.

He coughs and spurts.

A groan.

The rare smile.

A nod. A glint of recognition.

He remembers me.

High Fives all around again.

You Low Five and he obliges.

After a minute, you both Low Five again.

You never get tired. And he doesn’t remember

the previous round that happened

two minutes ago.

It’s always the first High Five.

Your hand touches his and you

both smile as your hands touch.

1.5 and 94

are not that different after all.


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