poems for Owen (& Jack)

for Owen, two poems

April 29, 2014

1)

Sweet warm dough in mine

A tender soft sticky grasp

Your hand grows like yeast

2)

Your hand grows like yeast in mine,

a warm soft dough,

the palm smooshy.

A baby's hot sticky grasp

turns day by day

into the smooth thin bones

of your older brother

who doesn't hold my hand quite so easily this spring.

Palms touching but fingers

just a little loose, reaching out,

because there is so much to see and do

in the great big beautiful world that cries

with a siren song irresistible,

as it has, world without end.

Not quite resting, not quite fitting

as you do now, your hot palm

molded to mine,

thumb and fingers clinging tightly,

our hands

like puzzle pieces meeting,

content and without thought

of how long it will last

or why it has thus far.


{CBK
4.29.2014}