One Saturday Morning

You ask to make waffles.

Splattered batter covers 
the kitchen counter 
where you sit
eagerly stirring 
in footie pajamas.

Tickle giggles echo 
through the air 
contagiously spreading 
between us until
I’ve caught them too.

Small hands carefully
raise a cup of milk.
Cheers! you declare
before diving into
our masterpiece.

I savor 
each delicious minute 
until I realize you said 
waffles
instead of faffles.

Blinking back a tear
I fluff your baby fine hair,
fingertips grasping 
to hold onto you
in this moment.

© Sarah Porwoll 2024