I am only able to get to the tea pot in time if he doesn't pull on my pant leg,
I on his,
both of us needing the other, desperately even.
I ask him what he needs. I already know.
He scratches his head as if deep in thought, then ignores me.
I think about the tea pot again. Maybe I'll have time to...
He bites my knee, begging for yogurt and blueberries,
riding a matchbox car up my leg, handing me a Christmas book to read to him.
I think about the tea pot again. I add water to the pot.
We settle in, buried in the early dawn comfort,
the cool morning seeping in through the window,
practicing the words finally coming to him.
The whistle is blowing
but my cup already overflows.