The hospital plays the first measures of Brahms lullaby
every time a baby is born
I breath the melody
cradling the halls
the powder, the milk breath, the promise
I pull my chair near to you
daughter to father
your body lies fragile,
teasing the monsters under the bed
It’s late
you talk of our time in Newfoundland
the Newfies
their toughness, their resilience
their thickness,
shoulders pushing into twelve foot waves
rowing deep into the bay’s cold belly
The Newfs, the children
running barefoot into Stephenville,
soles calloused
heels honed true on dirt roads,
and paths, and floors
all day, all night
all spring, all summer,
until early winter curled their breath
You ask me to straighten your socks
a request so simple, so small
I crack my knuckles for this solo concerto
study the seam cresting each toe
until you smile
and I spin the next hour
throwing shadow puppets against the wall
trying to catch your light with my fingers
Your heart quivers,
the room becomes an auditorium
the curtain yanked on its metal track
nurses rush to their instruments
tuning C sharps and B flats
playing your IVs like a symphony of strings
It’s quite again
I put my foot to your foot
they are so much the same
and it hurts
the allusion of tomorrow,
of next time,
of soon
Writing 