Tiny Human

Ophelia has come, an empty vessel,
From my daughter's womb. I look
Into her eyes to see a mind which,
As yet, at two months, can't make
Sense of too many things. She smiles
Sometimes when she sees me, when
She hears me repeat the stupid phrases
(Hello, baby, go!) I use to teach her
How to speak. She cries, but can't
Say why she does. She's strange,
A tiny, unformed human, kicking,
Writhing on a blanket, so peculiar,
Incomplete, and I, exhausted,
More or less condemned to die
Before she reaches middle school,
Lay down beside her. I will smile.
I will say my stupid phrases. I will
Use the time that I have left to me,
To fill up her. I'm not my mother,
Who is so concerned with making
Sure her heirs remember her.
I'd like to help Ophelia speak,
But do not care if she remembers
Who first taught her to say, “Go!”
I want her to fill happily as I,
A vessel who is full, develop cracks
And soon enough will break.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 85 times
Written on 2017-04-11 at 22:46

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