Yes, I remember when you were a baby.
You were heavier than the rest,
your head broad & sweaty
in the crook of my elbow.

You were loved & doted on
like all the rest. You had witnesses
& playmates & routines fully formed,
a family complete in all things, save you.

Do you remember the drive to Corpus?
You slept through a gulf storm whipping 
& blinding us for hours; I trusted
the wavering brake lights before us.

Do you remember your Grandpa?
His white hair & narrow glasses, 
the evenings at Luby's & the high windows
at the club on special occasions?

Will you remember these last days
of childhood--baths & goodnight songs,
cartoon pajamas & make believe?
Where are the worlds you brought to life?

We will remember (for) each other.
I will always know what you mean.
I will always bring you back
from then again.