he knows now

HE KNOWS NOW

July 28, 2025

Lately I think he knows.  

Even when he’s full of bounce,  
eyes bright,  
crawling around butt naked after his bath,  
laughing,  
racing away as we try to put his pajamas on,  

the minute we walk into the room,  
something quiet settles in.  

It’s like his body remembers  
what comes next.  

We start the goodnights in our room,  
after the bedtime books.  
We go to the window  
and say goodnight to everything in view—  
trees, traffic,  
planes, and planets.  

Then I carry him into his room.  

We say goodnight again,  
not just to him,  
but to everything that holds his walls up.  

To the painting his Mamam Bozorg made  
for his first birthday,  
the view from our window  
on that first road trip together  
with his grandparents.  
The agave,  
his height tracker by the door.  

To the wall decals I printed for him,  
his name in the YFLH™ font,  
a monarch butterfly from a spread in AROUND YOU,  
an airplane on the ceiling.  

Two happy faces I designed,  
Mocha and Blue Mist.  
SQUAREFACE too,  
another invention of mine.  

And that big 36 x 48 decal,  
a Sanderling flock at the beach,  
and above it,  
near the ceiling,  
a full moon.  

All photographed by me.  

A room curated with care,  
walls carrying memories  
before he can name them.  

We name each one.  
Slowly.  
Like a liturgy.  

And then, always last,  
“Last but not least,  
Good night, Malik.”  

By then his eyes are already heavier.  
He’s not fighting it,  
just following the path  
we’ve walked so many times.  

That final goodnight is the signal—  
he’s been seen,  
the day is done,  
and he knows now.