Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

The Tender Grip

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