Here now
I hold you
astonished at
your newness.
One hand
cups your bum
the other
cradles your head
you poop into my palm.
You smile
your smile
still unused to it
and its magic
wave a tiny lazy hand
as if you were royal
& I an adoring
subject.
The music of you
plays
in my mind
as if I were
a mechanical piano
notes played by invisible hands.
Your skull
has yet to get it together
the fontanelle pulsing
as if each thought could be seen
beating like a bird
against my hushed fingertips.
Years later
my hands so much older now
I cradle your crying
stroke your punk goth hair
as you weep
over your first 'real' boyfriend
(he obviously a jerk)
your constant wailing: 'Why...
... didn't it work! '
My fingertips
caressing where thought once pulsed
your sweet secret self
hidden from me now
in your growing up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh, the delicate tenderness of that new life, that skull as yet unknit....and the pain yet of watching her pain with growth... You express so well all the stages of her life, joy, love and hurts!