Cycles of Life

I watched as a baby slept: backside flat, breathing precious

air. A puppy lived next door, babysitting. We laughed at

rare footage: a puppy anxious and stressing; a baby resting

softly. Here’s a little world; where cameras flash, and food

is mystery.

I love her wildly enlove with innocence. She’s in touch with

an inner child. I awake, filled with jubilee, as vulnerable as

infant eagles. We parade familiarity: fluid with words,

becoming verbs, gestures and actions. I love her wildly enlove

with wildness, mourning our deepest puncture.

A baby has grown, fully enchanted. A woman has died fully

alive. There’s something gentle to growth: a summer pool; a

winter lake; especially, mother’s home baked muffins. Yes.

College is a miracle, where words are law, and ideas sing of

success.

But all in all, a slide colors memories: children laughing; and

fathers sipping Coronas; while mothers group in a living room,

griping over innocent flirtation, and family recipes. We focus

and watch, gnawing gourmet brownies, where voice-tones rise

with expectation.