Separation
1.
in December at 3 am
I sensed this nocturnal heat
my husband’s feet to mine
hand on my husband’s
fingers curled bodies semicircle
around a bed crowding boy
asleep in the middle of
his parent’s heart he began
to turn head towards toes dreaming
the day
4 years & 7 months past
rushing in
the world our waiting arms
2.
January, 5:30 am, surfing
heaving thumping waves clutching
a phlegm wracked mother
snatching breath, but
given every last antibody,
he unhitches himself
this roiling hurricane
used to be his harbour
his own bed
invites quiet
adventure.
3.
January, 11:30 am
he presents himself
to his Grandfather & his barber
the first lock falls into a borrowed
envelope
4.
February 8:30 pm he insists
on thick library pages
after cardboard close
sips 2 minutes
requests water
then a last taste
dances to bed
Broadway chin
over his shoulder
independent hands
wave a savvy flourish
no more morning milk
5.
March 3:30 pm we snuggle
into the round red chair
he pushes my hands away
“stop petting me”
even the puppy knows I still have milk
and remembers separate bodies connect
NOTE: Folks who have been with me from the beginning may have noticed that lately I’ve not been calling Winston “the boy”. After four and a half years, my baby has really become Little Man. We have reached this strange, weird wonderful place.
He needs me. he doesn’t need me. He wants me near. I’m too close. Because Daddy has been managing the bedroom transition, he goes to him when he is tired - not me.
This is what I’ve been asking for. I used to joke about the 30 foot long invisible umbilical cord between us. Now that it has developed elasticity, I don’t know what to do with it.
This is the nature of parenthood. We are eternally catching up to each other as we leave each other behind.
in December at 3 am
I sensed this nocturnal heat
my husband’s feet to mine
hand on my husband’s
fingers curled bodies semicircle
around a bed crowding boy
asleep in the middle of
his parent’s heart he began
to turn head towards toes dreaming
the day
4 years & 7 months past
rushing in
the world our waiting arms
2.
January, 5:30 am, surfing
heaving thumping waves clutching
a phlegm wracked mother
snatching breath, but
given every last antibody,
he unhitches himself
this roiling hurricane
used to be his harbour
his own bed
invites quiet
adventure.
3.
January, 11:30 am
he presents himself
to his Grandfather & his barber
the first lock falls into a borrowed
envelope
4.
February 8:30 pm he insists
on thick library pages
after cardboard close
sips 2 minutes
requests water
then a last taste
dances to bed
Broadway chin
over his shoulder
independent hands
wave a savvy flourish
no more morning milk
5.
March 3:30 pm we snuggle
into the round red chair
he pushes my hands away
“stop petting me”
even the puppy knows I still have milk
and remembers separate bodies connect
NOTE: Folks who have been with me from the beginning may have noticed that lately I’ve not been calling Winston “the boy”. After four and a half years, my baby has really become Little Man. We have reached this strange, weird wonderful place.
He needs me. he doesn’t need me. He wants me near. I’m too close. Because Daddy has been managing the bedroom transition, he goes to him when he is tired - not me.
This is what I’ve been asking for. I used to joke about the 30 foot long invisible umbilical cord between us. Now that it has developed elasticity, I don’t know what to do with it.
This is the nature of parenthood. We are eternally catching up to each other as we leave each other behind.
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