Grown Children
One from one direction, one
from another, one day they come back, together,
and suddenly my body fits
in the air it is standing in, and my brain
fits in my skull again, and my mindF
in my brain, and over the anticlines of my
mind light plays. Last week I had seen
a being on the beach I couldn’t name at first,
a short, upright creature with a round
head and a swaybacked torso and brief
appendages flashing to the sides and below
like the beams of a star, so it appeared to sparkle,
to twinkle along the sand—it was a tiny
primate, and behind it along came another,
tinier and more primitive,
a dazzling winking, scintillating
along, it was a baby. And now our daughter
is asleep on the couch, not six poundsL
thirteen ounces, but about my size,
her great, complex, delicate face
relaxed. And our son, last night, looking closely
at his sweetheart as they whispered for a moment, what a tender
listening look he had. We raised them
daily, I mean hourly—every minute
we were theirs, no hour went by we were not
raising them—carrying them, bearing them, lifting them
up, for the pleasure, and so they could see,
out, away from us.
From Landlocked:
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Found Bobbie Jo on top of the Goodwill pile, apparently she's ready to move on! |
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