Leftovers

Alas, alas, ye olde’ Moleskine is full, and a fresh new volume awaits. Some bits and pieces before I trash the former:

For a Child

I hear your cries
protestations, accusations
of inattention, and over-attention
tiny fists raised
at turkey, bread, carrots, cereal
painstakingly crafted potato/raisin/carrot pancakes
pitched straightaway to the floor

It’s all good
really
I know I tend to push back
but I shouldn’t
you get to choose
(everything except me)
I hear your cries

I see your eyes
heavy, sagging, lids coming down
like double-wide garage doors
I see your eyes
in the car seat, on the couch, in the crib
it might be faith
in my driving, feeding, singing
or you might just be tired

The line between acceptance and exhaustion
between fatigue and faith
is invisible

I won’t promise you security
no freedom from accidents, bellyaches, embarrassment
but I’ll promise you my presence
for better and worse