As a writer, I always worried about what I would leave behind. I felt my writing was, honestly, only being left for me. Now, with you, I am leaving something for the world. It’s more than me now, but it is my lineage. And that makes me feel more happy than I thought I could be, and more than I thought I deserved to be. You are what I will leave as a mark on this world; you are a living embodiment of who I and your mother are, and for that I am grateful.
musings & scribbles
Your mother is beautiful,
And powerful,
And willing/wanting
To do all you need of her
So you can be.
She taps the tips of fingernails
Against your room,
Calling you to answer–
And you do, surely,
And she welcomes you
As if you chose to say hello
And acknowledge she,
Your mother,
Is.
You squirm inside
Your mother’s belly,
And she resists gravity
To carry you, foot
By swinging foot.
There are always tappings,
Keys, claws, or fingertips,
When I write to you,
Keeping me on task and motivated
To best their pace.
I say that, then pause
To revel in the idea of you:
Not yet molded, so just
A blur, the perfect blur,
Undefined and yet
Familiar, family, loved,
Though you may rebel or
Embrace or fall away,
You will always be this
Blur, this perfect blur,
An embodiment of
Us.
How did you do this, daughter?
How did you give me hope again
That this world can be good, that
There’s more to life than trying,
That the days can slow to smiles, that
There’s time yet to be worthwhile,
That I don’t matter if you can correct
All the failures before you, just by
Being you.
It’s unreal. I am holding back from realizing how amazing it is that you may someday read this or hear this or whatever is done with text in your time. I’m writing to our daughter. This is so cool.
I should probably acknowledge that I’m a social media junky, so I should also probably apologize for being a jerk.
All of these clicks, clacks, cracklings of the joints count down the seconds wrapped in days waiting for you to be the embodiment of happiness, that wrapped joy just waiting to be molded by us, by our successes and our failures– and your own–, and our love of everything you do despite those.
Blinded, but feeling about with feet for the next steps we need to take, we’ll take care of you as best we can, holding on to now as much as memories; I know you’ll grow tired of them, but trust me, they’ll be worth something later– you’ll see.
Your Mom greets when you knock, hoping you’d reply, and you always do.
1, 1, and now we’re 3.
i’ll be on the road
with my navigator, and she’ll
be asleep, holding that
belly of hers, giving me
reason to split the lips
when smiling, and a tire will blow
or a radiator crack, and
i will have to slowly park
against the stream of highway travelers,
they who care not if we rejoin or disappear,
and i will leap to action, wake my one, and give
chase to thoughts of the worst possibilities,
letting adrenaline lead while reason sleeps,
and i will stand, breathing a chuckle, staring
inside myself at the scene of a situation
i didn’t bother to think of, but know i’ve got
all i need to handle it and get back in my seat
and go.
preppin for the eventuality
of everything falling apart around me.
You’ve got
those closed eyes
and fingers;
I’ve got
a smile which
lingers.
Counting the months,
But I know they are but days
In wait of your presence,
Turning thoughts to years
Of which there will be many,
Ours, these memories forming
In my head, dancing, with a wiggle,
As you do in your mother’s belly.
She held her breath,
Giving in to the situation,
Letting the veins expand and the vocal chords twist to garble a voice that only brings happiness.
She held her breath,
Clavicle raising, fingers finding
Way to the silver crosses across her neck,
Grounding her from
The shock we knew was coming,
Giving us a start on this life, round 3.