Last Small Gift
for Zackie, 1982-1984
He always noticed high things––
His long fingers
pointed to small things,
moving things, things that needed to be eaten,
people who should leave the room.
He gave second chances.
Even after I bit his finger
along with the cookie he offered as a token of friendship,
and even after the stout and lengthy
cry of outrage in his mother’s arms,
in two or more additional meetings,
he was willing to start over again,
this time from the middle,
at becoming friends.
He never held out his arms to me.
He never cried when I left the room.
Yet he shared with me,
along with a glimpse of a heart that could still break,
all of the pleasures first experienced
which I had once felt,
and some long glances where neither looked away.
Usually, I felt that in between his own needs
he knew everything there was to know about me,
this wise baby,
so that when he rejected me,
I knew it was for good reason.
And when he accepted me,
I felt I’d gained character.
Maybe I found it irresistible
that I had to earn his allegiance,
so that I felt flattered by it—
like the first girl chosen from the bench at a dance.
that I never knew well enough.
This baby who never noticed the toys I brought him.
This baby who reigned
from the corner of my sofa
under his pointed birthday hat,
never learned to say my name.
But he held something old for me in his eyes.
that some of the mysteries are left in a life
where most of the presents have been opened,
revealing objects less precious
than the surprises they came wrapped up in.
New fathers often balk at tampering
with their newborn’s inaugural Pampering.
But though he’d rather be out boozing,
He’d better learn, ‘cuz Mommy’s snoozing.
The prompt today was pamper.
Life and Death at the Beach
With babies, every day is an education. This little story was acted out when we went to Tenacatita beach for the day. Down the beach, a tragedy was being enacted as a group worked to resuscitate a drowned man. Seconds after I viewed this touching scene as two mothers deal with the interaction between their babies, we realized what was happening in the background and we went down to see if we could be of aid. The oxygen I’d gone back to the house to get at the last minute before we left for the beach was of no aid to them, however, as though they worked diligently on the man and got his heart beating again, they never were able to get him to breathe on his own. One tragedy, one story of new life. This cycle is never more obvious than on the beach, but never before so graphically as depicted on this day. To see the happier story, you must click on the first photo. All photos will enlarge and be presented as a slideshow, complete with words.
The prompt word today was baby.
(Click on first photo to enlarge all.)
Baby’s First Soda Pop
When finally a kid is poppable,
once the bottle is untoppable,
the overflow may be unstoppable.
It’s fortunate the floor is moppable!
(The WordPress prompt to day was “Unstoppable.”
I found this little buttercup in the San Juan Bautiste procession the other day. If you’ve had sufficient hibiscus and bougainvillea from me, perhaps you’ll appreciate the switch: