The Shape of Your Face

The Shape of Your Face by, Heather Keyser

With the pad of my finger

I trace a line

around one side

of your round

smooth

face.

I end under your chin,

and look

down

at you

as you look

up

at me.

I hope you can tell

how my heart

leans

toward you,

almost trembling.

Your

front teeth

that peek out

from slender lips,

your chubby chin,

your faint eyebrows

over starburst white-blue eyes:

it was the same face

6 years ago,

across from me,

bald headed,

in the bathtub

of our San Francisco flat,

as we splashy

splash

splashed.

It was the same face

that floated in the tub

the other day,

pink and serious,

surrounded

by bath bubbles,

as you lay back,

trusting the water

to buoy you.

One time I carried you,

strapped to my chest in the

Baby Bjorn,

facing outward,

as I stood in our friend’s

surf shop

and chatted with

a couple of guys.

The top of your head

warmed my neck,

foal-like.

I couldn’t see your expression, but the two guys could.

“Look, she’s smiling,” one said to his friend and me.

The friend answered,

“I know why— it’s because you

just kissed her.”

And I had.

I had just

bowed my head

and kissed

one side

of your

round

smooth

face.

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