I now know that time does not move in the same way without a difference for instance at the checkup while you reach each milestone at a year such as eating things by yourself and pulling to stand with a helping hand how can I be sure I myself have not passed by some demarcation designated by the fullness of my belly after crawling to chase you down the hallway out of breath does that song still mean as much now as it did then? how many more will pass before you get to know them? do the years spent in limbo without any trace of your premonition still feel as desperate? in fact yes they do witness these bread crumbs I continue to brush off my sleeve out of rest the dishes that need solving each evening after repast how is it that you have some idea of a spoon? why do I hold mine with such messy assurance as if I have some gift imparted by the passing hours turned into years I had no idea were mine even as I gave them away to wherever time goes these morsels you grasp so easily now in your hand sometimes they reach your mouth if not they are caught by grace in a bib above your lap
Category: Poems
Year One
A bit surprised by how intensely
the memories come flooding back—
is this why some stay the same
age you were when you met them?
The brilliance of sun today resembling
the euphoria of the drive home
after days in the hospital whose hours
remain somewhat unaccounted for
What did we do when we what did we eat
in those hours when breaths were new
and awkward cries holding your held
atoms radically assembled into grateful arms
Today as the rest of the world wore
unnecessarily fancy hats you tumbled toward
the iPad turning over to see the other side
such familiar faces facing your brightness
Surely they must be there in the flesh
magnetically attached to these radiant absences
how used to living you must be this longest
first year we could not imagine what we did
Where we went who we were going to be
before you suddenly appeared on the other side
Brown Bear
By the last page
pointing to each figure
she holds my finger
directs it out of order
to hear the sound
images again
I wonder what she sees
my hand or her own
repeating syllables
familiar yet different
signified by shapes
line and color
associated with world
somewhere beyond
the page within reach
Transitive Property
Appropriate to arrive
at a lack of words
to describe the child
speaking every syllable
in existence
at the presence of
faces on a screen
namely those who spoke
her life into being
the transitive property
of words before
coalescing into
definite statements
pass through this gate
of babbling
for the sake of all
consonants and vowels
to inhabit her activity
knowing all unspoken
will find their voice
in the course of time
the child is still getting used to
Proofing
The worry is that some worry
whether they are ready to have a child—
the problem is that that is nothing
to worry about the problem comes
when you realize you aren’t ready
for them to wake up from a nap
one day and suddenly bound across
rooms and hallways stretching for
any object living or stationary
without regard for decorum or
the probability of physical limitation
anything within sight is apparently
within reach and why not since
you can only be afraid of what
you cannot see—remember
when they were an ultrasonic pattern
on a printout did we really expect
the tables to be overturned? In fact we did
At the Library Book Sale
Carried the child around
the library book sale
while she craned her neck
to view the light fixtures
overhead fixated as it were
on the origin of illumination
while the spines which she
turns so delicately in her hands
after story time ends a result
of fatigue heavying eyelids
below strained into a blur
of books we might never get
around to reading how to
explain what captures
the radiance of her eyes
but this fluorescence
somewhat distorting
our limited perception
not all words enter our vision
but if we let the light in
we might know what life
brings us here to witness
the stuff all words we see
hear our made of
Clear
Space extends indefinitely
in between rooms
from one point
to another
then back
again
what else
could sustain
forward motion
resistance of floor
to a babbling of limbs
finding infinity restless
just another room
to explore
Cat Sitters
The more the child wishes
to pet the cats
the more perversely
they seem to accept it
as if their presence
by our side as soon as
the child goes to bed
were not evidence enough
they need to process
the sheer exuberance
this cat shaped creature
brings to their existence
for instance one of them
meows every night
with a mousie at her door
to wish her off to sleep
perhaps to take over
the house now that she
seems to own the place
witness how she cannot
sit still without reaching
for some other glint
of light illuminating
the fur that collects
in the carpet she cannot
keep herself from crawling
how much is she picking up
from these fur babies
receptive to touch
however flailing about
the novelty of a tail
attached to a creature
turning over at the joy
of another living being
Pull to Stand
Watching someone attempt
to do something
for the first time
knowing it may be possible
a leap into mirror unknown
reaching for the attainable
in a hopefully safe environment
nevertheless with
swathes of saliva
on mesh or fragile plastic
guiding the way
tells me everything about
instinct and tenacity
resilience and strength
growth and stamina
I could ever hope to know
in a shining tiny human
it also in no uncertain terms
really freaks me out
Okay Chorale
Today was the day we situated
the play yard around the living space
which the child decided was ripe
for launching legs and limbs in rapid
articulation from edge to edge
past the barrier to the forbidden
bare floor zone leading to the precipice
of the stairway and the kitchen
after some deliberation I decided
it was not appropriate to call it
a play yard perhaps more of an okay
corral it will make do for a child
who suddenly is unsatisfied with place
which she would replace with motion
how unlike I think as I stand in
the kitchen washing dishes scraping
bits of food she should not eat yet
I pause sobbing into the suds thinking
of the moments almost a year ago
when for thirty hours she deigned
an interregnum of motion having
determined the spot in which she had
been placed for nine months or so
perfectly suited to her situation
it was decided it was time for her
to arrive however without her immediate
consent I sat in the hallway helpless
not that I would have much to do
in either case in my fabric footies
and impromptu antiseptic attire
having no idea if she if she would be
okay if any of us would be okay
if this world she so boundlessly springs
forth into having no idea of her
destination will be okay all I can do
is wipe the rinse away and place
the dishes in their appropriated places
and collect my thoughts hoping
this space will be okay we will be okay
we will all be okay
Joshua Keiter 