slow dancing in a finite time

i come to babysit the little boy only months ago my sister called me about.  i was still living in two different cities bridgeable by plane.  nearly midnight when we were on the phone, that time:  she, breathless telling she was pregnant; how mom was going to take it; i, looking up, looking for stars.  in the nighttime, her voice 

over the phone was not unlike how we whispered in the dark.  long after the house was quiet.  two million stories.  including the ones about the new boy, the new movie, the new poster, the old.  how sometimes i scared her with stories, of ghosts and goblins.  how she believed, not knowing how i, too, frightened myself.  

how i told her over the phone:  this is how to tell mom.  begin, 1, 2, 3.  it'd get worse.  but you'd pull through.  it'd be okay.  i come to babysit the little boy only months ago my sister called me about.  she said, are you free today?  i said okay.  no matter the paperwork to reevaluate.  she said, your papers, you can bring.  

i said okay.  the morning is crisp.  she said she'd be out just quick. so i come to babysit the little boy only months ago my sister called me about.  it is fast asleep.  it is up and around.  it laughs and we run around.  we peekaboo, we roll on the ground.  it comes to me.  and holds its arms up wide.  carry me.  carry me.  i carry 

this little boy only months ago my sister called me about.  i carry it and it holds me close.  head on my shoulder, arms around.  i loop a music and slowly, we slow dance around.  this little boy my once-upon-a-time-little sister called me about.