Apologies

Your toys are scattered—
singular building blocks,
a stuffed puppy without tags.
But I’ve made the mess.

Your four-toothed smile
lingers in your absence,
in a place where you’re safe
with your mother.

It’s not premature for me
to apologize for this drink
or the one I’ll pour next.

Your father can’t see clearly
enough to drive you to the zoo,
where the elephants remember
a young man with an arm
around his pregnant wife
promising things in whispers.