Thursday, 14 April 2011
>To my firstborn, 6:55 a.m.
>I want to remember you:
long, slender legs and arms
but some tummy chub and indentations
in your neck from where the baby fat used to roll and roll
You now, five years old,
sitting with me on the sofa before the day —
before the schedule begins
before kindergarten ushers you into a new world and
Aware yet unaware,
You steal a glance at me and you know I’m watching.
Never before has a being inspired so
much fear —
Fear of what I am and what I’m not
Fear of failures past and future
Fear of you slipping away from me
It threatens to overtake me, until
I focus, for a moment, on the curve of your nose
and on how your hair falls in your face when you’re concentrating
and on the baby calluses on your feet.
And I remember that I’m here.
And it’s before the day, and
it’s you, and it’s me.