Page 6 - A Qualified Acceptance of Sorrow

I sit in mama's lap, I make her laugh
she recites nursery rhymes
and tucks us into bed with prayers.

I am playfulness, I am love

III.

Daddy shows me Orion, the Pleiades, Cassiopeia's Chair
Daddy drives us to the beach at night to see the moon
as it rises silently above the shushing sea
as its reflected light winds a pathway to distant lands.

Daddy tells me I am the ugly duckling,
the one-day beautiful swan;
he takes my hair from the rubber band, carefully,
gently, ever so gently, it never hurts.

Daddy says, write that Great American Novel,
hurry up or I will beat you to it.
Daddy paints pictures once in a while
discusses things philosophically
but always returns to his chair and his silence.

I am poetry, I am gentleness

IV.

The Poet Godde took a breath
and spoke beautiful words:

there was the sound of fire
the vision of water
the meaning of dust.

My first breath
barely ripples the sheet above me;
it is inaudible beneath the sounds of the gurney
as we travel from the labor room to delivery.

I am miracle, I am friend