Felt ridiculous in the dark of last night. Why
Couldn’t their calendars have started in spring
And their days begun closer to dawn? At dawn,
Bleary-eyed and weary but not in the least
Hungover from a sober night watch, body
Was thumped awake from dreams of insolvency
Too like life when daughter jumped onto the bed.
Any way you sliced it, by then a New Year
Had unquestionably begun to begin. Begging
For screen time gave way to more rambunctious
Play, a sunny day spent around the house
Barefoot, discussing eventualities such
As ear piercings and school terms, painting
Glued scrap wood pieces to make a canyon river
Scene, platform for the real project of arcing
A spindly web of bridge from 3D ink over it.
There was wrestling on Grandma’s couch,
A spilled drink on a rug, an hour’s pretend play
With imaginary monsters who spoke their own
Language of sibilant grunts and taught classes
In which the older monsters drilled the younger
In how to pronounce polite phrases in English,
Monsters being always shadow humans
Reflected back into the waters of our culture
The way secondary shadows waver under
Real water, being themselves water, visible
To anyone leaning over the gunwale
Of yet another tiny, passing boat. Then,
After dinner, the three generations collected
On cushions to rewatch the Song of the Sea,
And a holiday season vanished peacefully.
No comments:
Post a Comment