Midnight Lullabies

—for my son, seven months old

Years from now, by some small fire,

you will have no memory

of my pausing at your crib

peering down at my curled up

noodle, the pacifier

slipped from your twitching lips.

You will have no memory

of fish swimming through a sea

of light across your ceiling,

of my gently lifting you,

tossing you up like a prayer,

catching you like a gift.

You will have no memory

of your mother’s rocking chair,

of you in my arms, feeding,

your blue eyes brimming,

your thin fingers wriggling up

to touch my bristled chin.

O Ezra.  You with my soft face.

Years from now, when I, too,

shall have no memory,

perhaps some night, by some small fire,

we might share these simple lines….

Then you will lift me from my chair

and lay me down to sleep.

Soundings Review, 2008