To My Unborn Daughter					
Tonight you and your mother       			
are a thousand miles away       
as I steer unsteadily      
down the concrete path       
to the boxy little house       
with the concrete porch  
that will soon be yours.     
I stop on the porch,
scrutinize the stars,
and imagine you,
in the bigness of the universe,
so small and faraway--
But I've drunk too much
& am getting carried away,
Wondering which star
your soul is sleeping on,
taking its needful rest
before the long ride
down the coils of time,
the long superslide
into this sublunary world . . . 
Wondering if one day
you'll be standing here,
admiring these same stars,
thinking back on a
young father-to-be
in the last year of
the last millennium
who, while his pregnant 
wife traveled for work,
had come home after
a night with the boys,
blissfully drunk,
staring lunatic at the stars
too excited for sleep.         



copyright 2001 Phoebe Claire Publishing, LLC  All rights reserved