Mitsi and Dayadi

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.

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