Son of My Life
I am no longer alone when he falls across my chest in the night
Breathing a slurred sigh that came from his scarred palatal pain.
I comfort the weight of his bones in my two hands
While his blood smeared kisser
Bonds with my T-shirt.
His deep night crying wailed over me like the silent screams of living:
He was alive yet, calling to be someone’s child.
His mear cry echoes thru the unframed fatherhood in me;
This solemn request becoming without complaint the song of my mind,
The breadth of my breadth;
Later in dim light I succor him, --his cheek to my cheek--
I kiss the moans in his struggling neck
Feeling the small movements of his chi bellow against mine;
I match the inner wave length of each hale
Living for the moment, in the babe arms of a wanted child,
Drawing love from the Son of my life.
--On Route 21, D'fils
I am no longer alone…
Even now, 45 years later, when my son hugs me I am still no longer alone…The divorce is 46 years long passed and we are all still family…not ever to be alone as long as we hold certain truth to be evidence: family matters…hugs hold dear.
I comfort the weight of his bones…
At ten months he was just so babyish…bones of our bones…lighter than I by far. But just to hold him in my hands as a man and consider the unbearable lightness of his being was enough to mature more and more deeper parts of me.
His deep night crying wailed over me like the silent screams of living…
Now I am aquainted with the night crying some have to do…although it was 2 am and the street lamps and apartment security lights almost made daylight of my room…it was a deep first night, only two days following the 7 night ordeal at the hospital. And I recognized that wail’s wavelength and timbre for the aliveness it was...how beautiful I now found the vibrosity of living.
He was alive yet, calling to be someone’s child…
The danger was long passed and he was alive yet…I could tell by his calling that he was longing to be in the arms of some other human…longing to be someone’s child. It is not strange for a parent to know words that are not words and see words that are not seen…see them for the calling they are…what power a parent has to know such things. Things no book has telled.
(And more…just ask.)
Even now, 45 years later, when my son hugs me I am still no longer alone…The divorce is 46 years long passed and we are all still family…not ever to be alone as long as we hold certain truth to be evidence: family matters…hugs hold dear.
I comfort the weight of his bones…
At ten months he was just so babyish…bones of our bones…lighter than I by far. But just to hold him in my hands as a man and consider the unbearable lightness of his being was enough to mature more and more deeper parts of me.
His deep night crying wailed over me like the silent screams of living…
Now I am aquainted with the night crying some have to do…although it was 2 am and the street lamps and apartment security lights almost made daylight of my room…it was a deep first night, only two days following the 7 night ordeal at the hospital. And I recognized that wail’s wavelength and timbre for the aliveness it was...how beautiful I now found the vibrosity of living.
He was alive yet, calling to be someone’s child…
The danger was long passed and he was alive yet…I could tell by his calling that he was longing to be in the arms of some other human…longing to be someone’s child. It is not strange for a parent to know words that are not words and see words that are not seen…see them for the calling they are…what power a parent has to know such things. Things no book has telled.
(And more…just ask.)