Abraham,
I am anchored in annivesaries and Thanksgiving is that sort of day for me. I can see the full shape of time between Thanksgiving days. This past year it was like the world was completely reinvented. One year ago you were in casts, sad and hurt after your surgery. One year ago I was drowning in it, useless and hungry. It was raining a year ago.

Now, I float. This new family, this new place, these new ideas are sweet and amazing. I am happy to be here.

We take a walk today on a sunny afternoon. All the salamanders were too quick to catch.

Grandma T joins us for our second annual very small Thanksgiving feast. On the night she arrived you danced together to Cuban music. I am happy to see that you know her so well.

Pa-

Abraham,
People declare that you are a sponge, absorbing everything around you. It’s an easy misconception to make; your dark eyes are always open and shiny clear. You see everything. But I don’t think you absorb information so much as you go out and create it. Everything you see, you’d rather touch, taste, turn in your hands, smell, bang on and then watch fall to the ground a few times. The deadest, driest leaves are exciting, the way they crackle when crumpled, the way they flutter when waved, the way they make Mom and Dad say “No, sir,” when you hint at eating them. Ladybugs, books, butter tub lids, old watches, cell phones, pebbles and crayons are all equally fascinating. I feel fortunate that I get to watch you create the world one small, sweet thing at a time.

An incomplete list of your sign language:
bird, dog, cat, fish, snake, flower, eat, more, brush teeth, night-night, potty, where?, ball, book, finished, hat, wind, milk, dance, bye-bye
That’s all you need for poetry.

flower wind dance finished,
night-night

Pa-