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I didn’t know your newborn ear
would be so soft. It won’t again
until you’re old
and I am gone.
I bend the flap, a silken basket
catching our paper airplanes of affection
and crumpled, frustrated drafts.
Your parents are learning
as you will learn, and when your ear
goes soft again, maybe a little boy
will bend it, whispering
through time to me:
Pop, Pop, Pop.