Owies

You are fascinated with wounds—
Cuts, bumps and scrapes;
little jewels you adorn.
Bruises collected like Boy Scout badges
Every scar, a story
Slowly marring your pre-school porcelain Making maps of accidents and abrasions.

You are awed by blood—
how it comes from inside your body, out.
How injury can produce deep, red ooze.

You beg for Band- Aids—
I peel off the white papers,
Lay the strip carefully to
cover what hurts—
something you'll do forever. You look up at me with watery eyes and sigh truly believing my loving acts will make hurt disappear.

I want to Tylenol you into adolescence, into adulthood Provide preventive elixir for six stitches to your chin, for black eyes and broken femurs Make a Band-Aid bubble to cushion your tender being from playground bullies, from being last picked for the kickball team from future tyrants and girls who will trample your heart.
For now, I kiss each owie,
promise to make it better,
reach for the tin box of sticky gauze patches and pretend I can always cover your pain.