I admire the boys
dipping in and out of things, puttering
the way they can each just be a person all the time
instead of squeezing it in between meal prep and mopping
the way they act as little investigators of the ordinary
interrogating the mundane
Do people ever find cats from lost pet signs?
Why does the rock tumbler sound so soothing?
How big were prehistoric sloths, actually?
I grasp at a fraction of a fraction of that
a more flexible sense of what's interesting, what's valuable
and wonder if they will ever grow accustomed to such things
until it all becomes a blurry part of the day's backdrop
and the questions dry up
cardboard hangs over tree branches, waiting for potential birds to peck
iodine and vegetable experiments line the counter near the coffee pot
and I stand at the sink, admiring their uncertainties
the risks taken over risks avoided
the way they feed their brains novel patterns
and fill their hands with curious work
how they always, always find their way back to a book, home base
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