Two poems, written twenty years apart…the first one on the day my daughter was born, and the second, last night, on the eve of her 20th birthday. I love you, Baby Doll.
rev s.
p.s. Very cool painting by Sherry Rabel.
Delivery.
A slurping noise, the smell of blood, and then you, held aloft by your tiny ankles, the purple connection dangling into your mother as you briefly opened your little black eyes and it was all
I could do just
to laugh as the
universe slapped me on the back with a grin from ear-to-ear.
———-
Twenty.
Twenty years ago today, in a white delivery room, I heard a slurping noise, followed by the smell of blood, and then
I saw you, for the very first time–
held aloft by your tiny ankles, with the purple connection dangling into your mother as you briefly opened your little black eyes–
and your mom and
I laughed with joy–
then, half an hour later, I held you in my arms in a rocking chair,
you swaddled in a soft, white blanket as I rocked a little, and hummed for you
the choral bit
from Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, and
I remember looking up, and there was your grandfather,
in the window,
leaning on his cane and nodding his head, as if he could hear the music, too, and
I am reliving this one, perfect moment in the Universe, when the skies seemed bluer and
the air was crisp and
the trees were greener
than green, like
chasing an old buzz,
as the fat, middle- aged man with the smoker’s cough
passes judgement
on me, in the mirror,
for all the times I wasn’t there and all the things I didn’t say or do for
you, and I am
so, so sorry–
still, then, as the tears arrive and I begin to crumble, my
cell phone rings, and this
bright young woman is there, on the phone, now home from college for the summer,
and, apparently, she had just
watched “Scarface”
for the very first time, over the weekend, with her mom and stepdad,
and so we spent the
next ten minutes cracking each other up doing our
best Al Pacino’s–and
you know what, Avery?
In that one, perfect moment, with a single phone- call, the skies seemed bluer and
than green, and I
felt nothing but pride
for you,
as the Universe
slapped me on the back
with a smile from ear-to-ear,
and I heard Beethoven’s
“Ode To Joy” in my head.
—-
Copyright 2021 by Sean Rima. Painting by Sherry Rabel.
Check out Sean’s poems here: Rear View Mirror Poems: Rima, Sean: 9798671672367: Amazon.com: Books