a gaggle of good things
After exhaustion, your smile is sleep.
After turmoil, peace.
Your range of feeling is as varied as mine,
as reckless,
even as deep.
But there's a levity in your face that I have lost,
a lightweight love I long for.
On your own, you cannot walk, not even crawl,
on your own you are limited to floor.
I wonder how much there is unattainable to me
but my age deceives me into beliefs
of power, of capability.
You remind me, small movements and bones,
of my own
fragility.
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
Pepper’s photobomb on the slide! 😂
(✎S 📷S)
(✎S 📷S)
Listen: his infant laughter is brighter than the Summer,
even though the nights have shortened.
Someday he will speak his first word
(as far as we can tell).
As far as we can tell,
he already has.
I do not know what he knows:
I have no idea how much territory his mind has explored.
I do not know what he knows:
he has already covered ground beyond my borders,
frontiers I have not.
I have not
accepted the fact that my inability to comprehend his gaze
is a remark on his comprehension.
To become like a child:
every day a discovery,
every blink an uncovering,
every touch assumed love in it.
To become like a child:
to break the flood of our disenchantment
on the rock of clean reality
(untarnished innocence).
All was meant to remain in a realm we all revoked.
To be a parent:
to watch this come, to watch it go,
to witness a clearing of the smoke
or a smoking of the clear.
His eyes will hold envy before he ever sees it.
His heart will hurt and be hurt
before he ever knows what hit him.
To be a parent:
Front row to this Autumn Reenactment, Fall
Again, renovated wrecking ball,
nothing new under sun or cloudy skies.
I will wait until he is old enough to crawl
out from under the rubble.
He will have his eyes opened,
his youth undisguised,
then - if all goes well
if I have something to say,
as far as I can tell -
he will open his own eyes.
(✎E 📷S)
I can already feel it slipping away.
Soon I won’t remember what it was like, not knowing you.
Every day I can see my opinion of you forming into something more solid, more opaque. I keep adding a piece to your puzzle, knowing I won’t finish it ever but still seeing more and more picture nonetheless.
When you first got here I felt like a stranger had been placed on my chest. I would wake up in the middle of the night to feed you and stare down with so many questions. You were not intuitive to me. I think I was given a baby that smiled so early because I needed a baby that knew me, so I could learn to know him.
I was thrown off by you. I wobbled. I could not find my center as I distractedly watched you orbit around me.
You found your rhythm before I found mine. You led the dance.
Today I drove by the place where we saw your first ultrasound photo and I laughed, looking back at you in the back seat. Here you are! So much of you has already bloomed into personality. I lost my breath a little back then. I stared at the stranger in the photo and felt uneasy that someone I didn’t know would change me so much.
And now that feeling is almost gone. I always remember your face now. When you first got here I would sometimes get excited to see you after sleeping because I couldn’t remember what you looked like exactly. I know the sound of your laugh. You are now a more uniquely-only-you kind of strange and less could-be-anyone stranger each day.
I’m guessing someday I won’t be able to recall not knowing you. I may even think I’ve cornered the market on who “Wesley” is. I want to remember that you made me “mom”, but I did not make you, Son.
I want to remember once the illusion of time+proximity=intimacy sets in, that we were total strangers once, until we weren’t. Until one day we woke up friends.
“It turned out so right
For strangers in the night”
(✎S 📷S)
Aunt Nanna got a new job which means random trips to Seattle which means more happiness and cuddles for us.
(✎S 📷S)
I love you when you still.
I love you when you blur.
(✎S 📷S)
Wake up around 6am. Your dad comes to get you, puts you into whatever clothes look warm and comfiest (9/10 times this is sweat pants). You help him wake up with giggles and squawks and yelps.
He brings you to me shortly after so you can eat. Then you signal you’re finished by turning your head to stare out the window. You look out the window, I look at you, we snuggle, and I cherish.
Your dad picks you up and you get some of his best, his morning, to play with him, talk at him, and watch him. By 7:30 you’re ready for a nap already.
(✎S 📷S)
That pretty little beast, a poem,
has a mind of its own.
Sometimes I want it to crave apples
but it wants red meat.
Sometimes I want to walk peacefully
on the shore
and it wants to take off all its clothes
and dive in. Sometimes I want to use small words
and make them important
and it starts shouting the dictionary,
the opportunities.
Sometimes I want to sum up and give thanks,
putting things in order
and it starts dancing around the room
on its four furry legs, laughing
and calling me outrageous. But sometimes, when I'm thinking about you,
and no doubt smiling,
it sits down quietly, one paw under its chin,
and just listens. (✎S 📷S)
(✎S 📷S)
Keep coming back to watch this over and over.
Seated
you are barely taller than my briefcase.
Someday you will know the till,
the thrill, the chase,
the soil underneath fingernails,
the heart as it keeps pace.
Today you wear what I wish I wore more:
a soft brow and a quiet face.
(✎E 📷S)
(✎S 📷S)
(✎S 📷S)
Sometimes you almost can’t see a difference from life now and life before. But the window betrays that his piano pieces are now duets.
(✎S 📷S)
