Close
My daughter curled up in my arms
like a hallway left intact amongst a pile of ruins,
like a fresh aroma wafting onto
a staid windbreaker of the past.
I play with the curls of her hair;
they wind around like the grand conversations
of impetuous youth and I’m caught
up in an idealistic stampede. What
a blessing it is to be needed, to be
the mountain underneath a star; to feel this tiny
body pressing close, ears hoping to
be heard as they listen to the world.
Bildungsroman
So tiny this dream
this hope
this cry at four in the morning
this fist clenched and covered in a sock
this mouth frantically searching
But how immense that cry
terror of waking up in a dark pit
where possessed toys leer at you
but how immense those fists
anger at a world one can’t control
the clueless family friend
struggling to change this baby’s diaper
but how immense the searching
the kind face of a mother bending down
will not tell us why we want to engulf her
So tiny
those seaweed legs
that gathering crowd of hair
never again
to enjoy such immensity
—
***
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