First there were no words
and I didn’t understand;
then there were some and there was clarity
later still, we could talk
baby words turned into child-word
and some big-words tried out
with hesitation, then confidence
some worked, some made me smile
and through this ancient ritual of languaging
in the silences of growing taller
in the expansion of vocabulary
and in my growing incapacitation
I’ve held you both
together and separately
in wakeful hours and while asleep
in the ignorance of parenting
and the knowing of love
with fear, with pride
and as soft as my uncraftable heart licensed
whispering all the time:
‘grow, my precious,
grow, grow and grow
more tender than your cheek
softer than your whisper
into adult and child
and child again
and again.
