Roof Deck with Child

We’re on a roof taking in the view. You
throw something over the edge. You don’t know
how to count into a million pieces. You don’t
know that gone is defined by what you still have
to live with. You want to see where it went
and it’s my job to tell you these things
so I show you, my shoulders and hands tightening
as I bend us into that irrevocable space.
You reach your hands out, straining
against my hold. In this moment I’m capable
of anything, which reminds me of yesterday,
the cup of tea I held steady as I tiptoed
toward my chair. The few drops escaping anyway
onto my skin. My hand opening. I remember
the cup breaking, how it woke you
from your nap, how my quiet was gone
even before it began. And now we’re here,
both looking down, and I’m that capable of anything.