whitey.

his big brown eyes
approached me, 
concerned,
offering up his raggedy 
well loved
stuffed animal,
a dog with floppy brown ears,
matted fur
and sad marble eyes.
my son calls him 
whitey.
he showed me a spot on the paw
that was torn open,
the innards of cotton
ready to slip out.
"can you fix him, mom?
please?"
I gathered them 
both close
pulling out white thread
along with a thin silver needle
out of the blue sewing kit
my grandmother 
gave to me
just after 
i became a wife.
my son watched me
attentively
as i poked the eye of the needle
with the thread 
forming a knot 
around it.
weaving in and out
in and out
along the cut,
methodically
each stitch closed the gap
as whitey waited 
patiently
not making a sound
as i worked my fingers
along his tired skin.
i finished sewing up
the wound
and my son hugged me 
fiercely
and whispered 
"thank you, mom."
he clutched whitey to his chest
and my heart slowed down 
the moment,
this cherished mom moment-
warmed
that i was able to do this
small act
for him.