FIRST STEPS Poem by Stefan Hertmans

He ran into the street without a glance
and I, who becomes like him more and more,
thought he could make it to the door.

But he turns round around, cars racing
along the prom. Now he's almost there
I'll never get to him in time.

Just so my father, all his life,
could dream of my hand, as small
and quick, able to slip between some bars
into the depths of rock and water.

Life rushes in a wink.

Then I grab him - he unafraid,
His eyes wide open and so calm -

I with that fatal smash
That will never leave
My life and body.