New holiday in life first time
experienced such that understanding why
pretend plastic eggs literally
carpeting the too soon for green grass
actually in hiding and there for picking
up with fingers into small basket
for the purpose of collection
hindered by lack of height and/or
fascination with shape or color or seams
taller children who carry as much
as they grasp drop eggs for our child
to find accomplished with some help
namely our fingers pointing in their
general adjacent to giant dandelion direction
Later car singing rear view mirror thumb
in mouth absorbing the day with bubbles
and stones and small soccer ball squeals
at the point of needing sleep through side A
of Godspell Off-Broadway Recording
that carried me through childhood first
theatre production witnessed when I was
almost twice child’s age now barely four
now forty years later how will I explain
daddy cannot make it through side A
without sympathetic sobbing at the sound
of soul vibrato intoning gratefulness
all good gifts around us are sent from heaven above
then thank you lord thank you lord for all your love
How then the feeling of remembering my
father’s fall almost one year ago this the first
year such that less understanding as time
runs out he would play the red cassette
in the car too loud probably to hear anything
else he said he loved listening to it to me
why do some moments feel new while others
seem always to have happened we offered
our child a new book at bedtime she kept
turning to the page where the children hunted
eggs she found each one as well as naming
everything in sight there a tree a birdhouse
a sheep a line of triangles around the farmhouse
everywhere grass everywhere something growing
Tag: NaPoWriMo
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Out of Tomb
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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Strays
Time is a stream
you step into once
you run out of other options
A house is a metaphor
for what you want
to take place inside the house
Things happen
the way they always have
then they happen again
Some are missing
you remember them more
when you miss them
Mouth makes language
out of another
mouth’s reaction to it
Return is incomplete
when you begin
where you started
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That Story
These born into stories
never far from what made us
reckoning into the past
ellipsis of known forgottens
press record before slip
separates difference in time
within what adjusts us
to this intermittent present
between now and the next
now you take into account
which story ends you begin
Joshua Keiter 