A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
The Tender Grip I had a habit of documenting every little thing you’d do, like the first meaningful, sleepy gaze that studied my eyes staring back, or the first tender grip of my thumb that connected us infinitely, and when I made you laugh, hiding my face to reappear with a goofy peekaboo look. Cradled in my arms in a glider for hours, I wondered which of us was sleepier. I learned patience in the time it took to feed you, gently throttle your back, your tiny tummy upon my shoulder, waiting for that buu-rrpp to finish our session. I’d lay you down in your first playground, guilty because it didn’t feel my best. I worried if you’d sleep, if I’d let you cry too long, needed a diaper change, more rocking, another bottle feeding, or if, you felt alone like me in this big, wide, scary world. I thought, if we’re always together…not alone. The distance from here to eternity, shortened by the connection of our gazes. But your eyes move toward dark horizons, forgetting I can still rock you. How inadequate I feel because you deny these two arms that shelter and heal. 10.7.21 11.10.21 edit 33 lines, free verse |