Can I Hold the Moon?

“There’s the moon,” says Enzo. “Can I hold it?” “Sure,” I say. What will we hold it with? A lasso? Gloves? Or just barehanded? Moonlight illuminates Enzo’s soft face. I want to place a plump kiss on his cheek. I want to squeeze him and rock him to kingdom come. He is new in this life. He is brand new. He takes the jacket off his stuffy. “He’s hot. He doesn’t need a jacket.” We flip through a book and see a mouse hiding. “He’s hiding,” Enzo says. “Can I hide?” Enzo scootches into the closet. “Where is he?” Enzo says, “I can’t find him anywhere!” We take playdough out. “Can you make Papa?” Enzo asks. “Can you make a snake?” Enzo’s shaggy hair swings about his head cheerfully. “Sing the Papa song!” Enzo requests. “Sing the zamboni song!” My little boy knows how to make believe. He makes believe every day.

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