Safe

Safe

The bed moves and sighs.
A strong arm circles my waist
and holds me to his chest.
It’s warm.
A lullaby of drums
Sings me to sleep.
Safe.

I made him bleed
when we were kids.
He said I had cooties.
I cried at the rubies
Hanging from his lip.

He said that was
when he knew.

He made me bleed when
We were older.
Rubies glistened on the bed sheets.
He kissed me where I hurt
and took the shame away.

That was
when I knew.

He was older by a year,
and would walk me to school
every day.
His hand always found mine.
And I was safe.

When it rained
he held out an umbrella
over my head.
And let his hair get wet.

We ran through droplets
As mud painted my shoes
Like stars.
I laughed.
because it was beautiful.

His surprise met mine
Eyes already smiling.


I would squeeze his hand
just so he’d squeeze back.
And when he looked for cars
I watched
the water gather on his eyelashes.
That was when I decided
To be rain

It seems time forgot
to steal the wonder
and left us in our bed,
content to let us be.

Every night his arms
Whisper safety.
His finger tips glide down my arm,
followed by his lips,
brushing my baby hairs.
I give him the giggle he wants.
We squirm under the covers,
legs entwined.
I try to tickle his feet.


Our laughter echo’s through the room.
Our song.
And I think to myself
So this is what it’s like.