Between Bruises and Blooms

Some mornings
the sun wakes slowly,

but not you.

You tumble into the day
with sleepy eyes,
wild bedhead,
and cheeks still warm from dreams.

You are my little bear—
soft where it matters,
brave when it counts,
curious about everything.

You collect treasures
the way other children collect toys:
a leaf,
a pebble,
a cat’s tail to gently follow,
a giggle that escapes before breakfast.

The world has only just opened its eyes,

and somehow
you’ve already found
three reasons to laugh.

If love had fur,
steady paws,
and the gentlest heart,

I think
it would look a little like you.

Good morning,
Izzy Bear.

The day has been waiting
for your smile.