Poem Of The Week: 08/02/2004

	Waiting to See Who Will Get Up With the Baby First in the Morning

My dear wife, I promised you
more than death-do-us-part soliloquies
when I offered you my breath, my heart,
placed the rest of my life
in a small, blue box
whose card had only your name on it.
   But it's six AM.  And the beautiful baby
   in the bed between us
   is staring at me
   and insisting, "Ga!"

My darling, as I lay quiet, I remember our wedding,
middle of October and warm like May,
how you walked onto the porch dressed
like your shoes were philosopher's stones,
turning each red brick in your path to gold
as you floated toward me, my eyes flickering
as if you were a solar eclipse in the midday sky.
      But it's six-o-five
      and the beautiful baby in the bed
      between us kicks me in the neck with her delicate foot.

Oh, my love, I would bring you golden fleece,
Holy Grael, would wrap you like moonlight's white fire on your skin,
bring you bouquets of stars each evening
as the fireflies I've trained
spell "I love you" in the air.
         But
         it's six-ten.
         The beautiful baby in the bed between us
         is on all fours, her eyes
         as wide as muskmelons.

And, oh, the first things I ever noticed about you
were the endless curls of your brown hair,
was how my desires turned
from ice straight to steam, was the coffee-color sweater
I would grow to envy, you
couldn't have made a bigger splash had you come to my shore, naked
on a clamshell, with plump, naked infants flashing around your ears.
            But it's six-fifteen
            and the beautiful
            baby in the bed
            between us
            is rolling and pulling herself
            toward the cliff at the foot of our bed.

My dear, my darling, 
my love, my wife: these
have been years more enticing than chocolates,
silken days few men live to see, I 
am the incredulous farm boy in fables
who sees that unheard day of every prayer's answer.
               But it's six-twenty,
               and from here
               I can smell
               the diaper
               of the beautiful baby in the bed between us,
               our eyes blinking open, crashing shut
               as we make wishes
               on the other
               to stir.

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