Baby Hairs

You hate the downy hairs

lining your forehead with fuzz,

so you stick them back with wax.

Dressing for a birthday party,

trailing perfume, round belly

receding under a yellow crop-top,

I want to kiss the top of your head,

instead tuck my arms to sides,

and dim doubt from my eyes

when you spin to wave goodbye,

and I’m chill, bruh, totally at ease,

your overnight bag dropped

and you’re back for a squeeze,

my heart the pendulum of parenting,

gather, release, gather, release.