Sunday, November 2, 2014

second and third

there was a baby
who wouldn't crawl
and when he moved
he rolled
eventually, he crawled,
but wouldn't walk.
Instead, on hands and knees
he bounced
his hair an electric crown
preventing hugs with zaps and sparks
full of giggles
with more air between knees and bed
than you would guess

His tiny forehead torn open
with a black round spring
strapped to a board for stitches
before he knew what "bored" without
video games was like
I held his head while the needle threaded him
His eyes shared only a tear or two

There were moments when I confused him
with my own limbs
feeling broken in foreign ways
when he was not close enough
to reach out and touch

the evil took his father
and I watch him grow
into a sensitive ball of effort
Effort to fix things
effort to help
effort for effort's sake
which does no good and only
twists him
into anxious balls
and teary trembling desire

This phantom we miss
he is part of everything
I will never be the same
because of him
this small person would not exist
if not for him

today
he didn't walk
he bounced
and not on knees

He stood and saluted
and counted out ten tricks, bouncing
focused, twisting and flipping
Then ran as fast as possible
to hit to surfaces
holding his core tight
pointing his toes
reaching
stretching
landing.

I missed it all
but helped to make it
possible.

We move and try
and bounce from one to the next
our hands often empty
our hearts with holes
but the blood in us
runs like the air through a woven
trampoline bed
whooshing and springing up
down
strong enough to send you to space
and leave waffle blood marks
on your chin

We are like those woven beds
whole and strong in our brokenness
full of holes and springs that can cut
but still call us
to bounce