Orange; The Color Of Happy

I crept to the small, glass window in the door
and peeked into the preschool's "orange room."
I spotted him on the rainbow-colored carpet--
jumping like oil in a hot skillet,
laughing, dancing to silly music with the other children,
waving an orange scarf above his head.
He looked happy.

I walked into the room and his brown eyes met mine.
His sweet, little boy feet,
clad in orange sneakers, carried him across the noisy distance,
across the span of my anxieties,
and straight into my outstretched arms.
He threw his arms around me,
and with lips stained orange, he widely grinned, looked up and said,
"Mommy!   I ate cheese puffs!"

"He did great today," the special education teacher said;
a radiant smile adorning her face.
"He did great today," the speech therapist said;
an element of certainty and love in her countenance.
"Ah, he did great today," I whispered to myself;
suddenly realizing my tender, mama's heart,
inside a body weary and weighted with pregnancy,

felt light, felt light, felt light.



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