Sunday, October 4, 2009
4 pound flash of blood and light--
Kept warm like Sunday dinner, tubes
in places you shouldn't know yet. Yet.
You are you and you are here and you
are mine. And grandpa is waiting, mask
hanging, slack and stupid. Welcome.
Happy 4th, Miss Chicken Wing! For a girl so small, you sure filled up our life.
A Little Tooth
by Thomas Lux
Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It's all
over; she'll learn some words, she'll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,
your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.