Thumb Boy
Marianne Brems
When he puts his thumb into his mouth,
he suddenly looks younger.
He sits in his jacket on his mother’s lap,
the evening sun on the water
gentler than midday.
He fidgets four-year-old fidgets
but not so very many
while his sisters, giggling,
shove at each other on a nearby bench.
His mother folds him in her arms,
then with her head close to his
points to a bald eagle in a distant tree top
guarding her nest,
but he’s looking elsewhere.
He removes his thumb to resettle himself,
then puts it back into the safety of his mouth.
She can feel his warmth protected from the cool air,
his young easiness,
his I-don’t-care.
He will scrape his knees,
grow too large for a lap,
fall off his bicycle,
suffer broken hearts,
but for now,
he‘s everything that’s OK.
First published in Remington Review January 18, 2023
he suddenly looks younger.
He sits in his jacket on his mother’s lap,
the evening sun on the water
gentler than midday.
He fidgets four-year-old fidgets
but not so very many
while his sisters, giggling,
shove at each other on a nearby bench.
His mother folds him in her arms,
then with her head close to his
points to a bald eagle in a distant tree top
guarding her nest,
but he’s looking elsewhere.
He removes his thumb to resettle himself,
then puts it back into the safety of his mouth.
She can feel his warmth protected from the cool air,
his young easiness,
his I-don’t-care.
He will scrape his knees,
grow too large for a lap,
fall off his bicycle,
suffer broken hearts,
but for now,
he‘s everything that’s OK.
First published in Remington Review January 18, 2023
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Marianne Brems is the author of the full length poetry collection Stepping Stones (2024) and three chapbooks. Her poems have also appeared in literary journals including The Bluebird Word, Front Porch Review, Remington Review, and Lavender Review. Favorite poets include Kay Ryan, Ellen Bass, and Naomi Shihab Nye. She lives, cycles, and swims in Northern California. Website: www.mariannebrems.com.
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