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