his 4-year old world

“I’m the draw-bridger”

the proclamation settles in
to a leather couch cushion
quickly recruited to play the part
“bridge”

tender tiny hands
hoist the bridge on its side
until it leans delicately
against particularly placed
kitchen stools
(assigned the job “castle walls”)

slowly

tediously

the living room transforms
under the touch of grimy fingertips
compelled by
the vivid workings
of a mind I can
no longer
seem
to
grasp.

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