Leftovers

My son, what can I give to you
that will last long after I am
gone? These precious memories
I feel I am gobbling up and
hoarding all to myself– your
laughter, the sweet of your
smile. If I left here
tomorrow, what would you
have left of me? My nose,
reimagined on your face. The
round of your teddy-bear-eyes,
like mine. Perhaps these words,
captured here in their inky scribble,
for you to discover– I hope,
treasure– one day, long
long from now.