One benefit of leaving
the TV idle until
the screensaver appears
flashing photos of days
gone by and our child
recognizing objects in them
and asking for them
is the same benefit of never
throwing anything away
to a point and retrieving them
from the basement
where the child never goes
anymore all of a sudden
is the same benefit of knowing
where you put everything
you never throw away
and finding those items
and more the child has not
played with for months
if not years can it be years
one benefit of years going by
is seeing the child somehow
knowing how to play with
those objects from the past
with developed dexterity
and fine motor movement
seeing play as if it were
new for the first time
Tag: NaPoWriMo
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Benefit
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Chance
Nostalgia for the past
has been replaced by
nostalgia for the future
that will obviously never be
who would have guessed
after ten years of this
we would still be waiting
for the end to end
a revolution maybe
could lead us out of it
if not for uncertainty
as to what comes next
so much doesn’t work
it keeps not working
in a kind of perfect
circle that stays broken
without the laughing
running to the door
after an unexpected day
away from home to work
seeing how human chances
get from point a to point b
through benign neglect
and required unremembering
I would be okay except
for the mirroring of myself
at the door closing behind
saying see you later
in precisely my cadence
she knows what will return
will be different in a kind
of same kind of way
these broken chances keep
happening
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Nap Sleep
Relatively easy
to determine the causes
of fatigue
that brought my child
to my lap for the duration
of the service
Less easy to know
how to hold myself
with this being
whose size and shape
did not conform to my idea
of how big she would be
when people ask her now
how old she is
she sometimes says Bigger
which is what I often say
as if that explains how
already she is many
ages at once
ready to slink off to sleep
in my too weary arms
or run down the hallway
as if for a marathon
at what should be bedtime
or lulled by a Taizé tune
the same one we would sing
in her earliest nights
the voices in unison today
conducive in the way
she stayed asleep on my lap
I wanted to stay
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Same Place
Sitting a little shellshocked
as I realize the same place
where the child spent
almost ten hours
singing along and leading
her parents in song
running around the building
showing off her paper plate bunny
eating clementines for lunch
doing laps in the big and small rooms
watching a bit of VeggieTales
lying down on the couch
and insisting I stay on the floor
kicking around soccer balls
ping pong paddles
plastic baseball bats
and a foosball table
tucking a puppet dragon to bed
with the same blanket of
the aforementioned couch
having pizza and ice cream for dinner
before finally collapsing into the car
is the same place that the child
spent every possible minute this morning
kicking and screaming resisting
getting dressed leaving the house
going to the car listening to
anything to stay away from
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Book Fair
Nostalgically excited
in advance
for the fact of a preschool
Scholastic Book Fair
perhaps to provide
formative moments of
generational wonder
for our toddler
I am afraid the experience
of multiple tables
of books with interactive
elements embedded like
a camera and flashlight
not to mention
sensory delight such that
I thought was only possible
when seen retroactively
through the lens of
collective shared near
sugar high levels of bliss
at paper products so
generously arrayed
made her overwhelmed
lying on the floor
with her chosen book
grasped in hands
too tired from the regular
schedule of events
that to her senses even
before nostalgia arrives
in her mind was already
rather extraordinary
-
Just
As it would be
with your birth
without which
we wouldn’t exist
was hardly announced
on the front page
of some seedy
paper of record
millions gathered
to find a way
out of this hole
we let get built
around us
don’t expect
the transformation
to be lauded
by those who
would bury it
when it comes
to flower.
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House
Starting to convince myself
it is a blessing
or a curse
to have a house so filled
with memories
rendered as physical artifacts
each floor seems to hold
limitless space for more
granted mostly boxes
that remain as vast in scope
as the moments in which
they originally occurred
who now can count
such numbers?
each time one is recalled
another beckons forth
creating new connections
endless and indestructible
for instance I cannot remember
the first time I realized
the grains of sand
along the ocean were countable
and some poet or other
probably compared them
to the stars or some such stuff
synecdoche for everything
somehow taking place
in the same universe
how could it be so?
who could hold such figures?
see now how they stream
out of doorways and jambs
collectively making one
statement countless placards
on the same theme
Hands off! The people are out
pouring into the streets
-
Confirming
Without a doubt
the toys that were left
in a box
in the attic
unplayed with
for thirty years at least
when taken out
and sorted into
resemblances
once again
have the potential
to draw the attention
of a child who has never
seen them before
as well as one who has
and leave us both
rapt
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Reciprocal
Divide the number of empty storefronts in my hometown
by the texture of the music shop where I bought my first drumsticks
that seemed like it had been there forever
and now will soon become a pet washing establishment
then
Divide the uninhabited islands that have been operating
at a trade deficit for centuries if not millennia apparently
by the number of penguins who might given enough time
and a typewriter devise a more coherent economic strategery
than the current administration
then
Divide the times my child has run down the hallway
of my childhood home into the arms of her grandmother
by the memories of myself at that age in the same house
running constantly through my head at any given moment
until the child and the parent and memory are one
bears repeating
Joshua Keiter 