Sean Rima: 2 Poems for my Daughter on her Birthday.

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

the air was crisp and

the trees were greener

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

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