the weight of him

when your son
was little, wearing
his green
and yellow onesie,
you could
hold him
in one hand,
balanced
like a sack of sugar
and float him
around the room
while his mother
would yell to put
him down, you're
going to kill him,
she'd say.
he'd put his
arms and legs out
and make a
whirring noise
with his puffed cheeks
blowing,
as if a plane.
sometimes he'd
tweet like a bird.
you wonder if
he remembers that
as well as you
do, nearly every
day, feeling
the weight of him.