First Fall
The whole world between my hands
comes to a quivering lull,
and as I catch you, my skull
compresses and understands
the waves lashing at the sands
of its weathered shores have tried
to nudge me to step aside.
You learn to walk, and to be,
close to the edge of the sea,
this sea you carry inside.
Afternoon
The little one’s eyelids deep
in their quarrel with the mind,
the sky caressing each blind
is fading, falling asleep.
I keep pretending I reap
pages of poetry (right)
but my hand is feeling light
and icy toward what it’s spun.
I bundle up with my son
as day dissolves into night.
Sled
“We climbed together the hill
and reached the top, as I said,
and then you hopped in the sled
and left me there, standing still.”
He huddled close in the chill.
I turned away, bleary-eyed.
“It was just a dream,” I lied,
hoping he’d let the dream go,
but winter tracked what I know.
The sled stopped. I stepped aside.