(For My Nephews––now Six Feet Tall.)
You flinched from my touch,
hated the red cowboy hats
I bought for you,
preferred the hundred
tiny grass frogs
to the cows we tried
to introduce
into your city lives,
had eyes only for the trucks
carrying salt for the cows
to gather after.
Early mornings,
you leaned against
my sleep.
And oh,
your sleep-wicked
hair
and your
sweet sour milkbreath
and the
slight fart smell
of your warm bunny p.j.’s,
your impeccable smiles.
Daylight
had barely
bedeviled
you yet.
Five minutes until
you melted
back into your
foggy baby dreams,
and I became
your
nostalgia.
My foggyybaby nephews, Craig and Jeff, many years later.
For dVerse Poets, we were to write a poem inspired
by Carl Sandburg;s most famous poem about fog.


How time flies
LikeLiked by 1 person
Absolutely true.
LikeLiked by 1 person
💙💙💙
LikeLike
totally awesome. I was right there with that real baby. Oh, the goodness. Innocence. Every word I s just right. You created a burping. Farting, darling real little baby.
Ann from Cheyenne
LikeLike