Looking at photos from almost
a year ago knowing how much
you’ve grown how much
you will grow how many moments
between the ones we remember
to capture the ones we don’t
see with our own eyes the only
conclusion I’ve reached is that
you’re growing too fast
there is no way to keep up with
the changes we witness and adjust
to every day the words to the songs
we half know in the morning
some harmonic resurgence
that cannot be explained by
the songs we all know to sing
together that somehow all scan
to Twinkle Twinkle ABCs all
of a sudden I see you seeing
Mister Rogers at the piano you go
from your thumb in your mouth
to arms outstretched admonishing me
to put down the unreflective glass
between my thumbs and please
dance with me daddy so I stand
and we dance around and around
to the music for awhile sometimes
slow and sometimes fast and I think
I can’t take a picture my hands are full
tonight I sang a song I don’t think
I’ve sung since the days when Pop-Pop
was dying days you cannot possibly
remember but the song you do remember
I’m being followed by a Moonshadow
you sing along you remember that song
Pop-Pop loved that song you echo
in my arms it all goes too fast and soon
you are fast asleep in my arms at last
Tag: Mister Rogers
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Too Fast
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Talks About Music
Still growing cautious
of introducing our child
to cultural artifacts we know
are unrecoverable, even as
I scour the library book sale
for a second day searching for
what I remember. What will
we do when she becomes
so attached to them she wants
to meet them, hug them
in a full spontaneous embrace
as when the six year old pianist
Niki Hoeller was so overwhelmed
by meeting Mister Rogers
and playing for his television
neighbors and operating trolley,
Niki needed to hug Mister Rogers,
however awkwardly, upon leaving.
Or when in the very next visit
Mister Rogers himself so overcome
with the emotion of Yo-Yo Ma
playing the cello he felt the same
impulse to embrace the musician.
I remember what might have been
a created memory, a cassette tape
of my brother meeting Mister Rogers
and saying “I love you” to him
and Mister Rogers saying the same
in reply. I have no idea if such
a cassette even exists in our history
or if I may have witnessed
such an occurrence on TV
and transposed the moment
as familial. Our child now sings
Mister Rogers songs in a medley
of her own making, letting one word
prompt her to another song
with the same word. Little wonder
then when she gives us a big hug
we are grateful at our meeting.
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When the Day Is New
Hard to believe the child hasn’t grown
up some unimaginable leap
in the overnight hours
when we hear long before the alarm
we purposely set later to recover
from the week
a voice clear as the air enunciating
syllables reverberating through
strewn blankets
stuffed animals placed like an audience
the doors and walls no match
for those lungs
every word from start to finish of the song
almost personified by changing
out of sneakers
into street shoes out of zipper sweater
into sport jacket even in tune
the song itself
personifying everything we could feel
at this solitary moment that
then repeats
almost as if to say I’ll be back again
even as one day closes another
snappy new day begins
It’s such a good feeling to know you’re alive
Joshua Keiter 