The Call
Hear Beverley read this poem (mp3)
As I grow old around the eyes
protect myself from wrinkles
you arrive.
Head grapefruit size, hazelnut shape,
tucked-chin a lovely sleepy face
that screws in moments
to an aging crone.
Luminous chameleon skin,
flame-soft skin, and lines
mature beyond eight hours old.
Wide expressive lips
pout-peace and bliss and pain,
a sudden blush of body strain
understanding guts and need,
you feed.
Perfect hands. Tiny fingers. Minute nails.
Impossible to grasp,
this fragile bundle can exist outside
her mother’s bellies mound.
And sound,
your sucking and that cry.
It catches almost hurts.
Demands focus.
It’s known, even she wolves can’t resist that wail,
raise human offspring as their own.
I’m here, great love made it so.
The call, from my first-born son and wife
this baby girl is our new life.