Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Poem for my son

Baby Boy's Milk

A voice calls out in the night. Answer the cry
with milk. Answer the call with love. Answer
the cry with fear and trembling. Time
will move us beyond this stage of being small. He
is small, not yet ten pounds. I am small,
not yet confident. The night unfolds. My boy
searches for questions to his hunger. Feeding
in my arms, I wonder if am holding him
right. A way moves through our space.
He is old in his wisdom as I am young in fear.
Prayer comes at the end of us, circling
us like a dark bee in search of nectar.
I think about God and address God.
What is there to do in the darkness
of a late night feeding? I wonder,
Then I change his diaper...




2 comments:

Marcus Goodyear said...

"Prayer comes at the end of us"

I like that idea.

Lace Marie Williams-Tinajero, Ph.D. said...

Your son is blessed to have you as a father. Your love and care have no limits.

Your wife and son's mother,
Lace Marie