Hearts on Paper

October 27, 2010
She's got mine!

Serenity sat with me this morning,
reached for my clipboard of notes and blank paper.
Awkwardly holding the mechanical pencil
     in her left hand,
made stabs and swipes at the college rule:
     the scribbles are getting bolder.
Fingering the letters of my name
printed and taped to the metal clip,
I explain she is of a select few
who call me Grandpa.

Gazing at the work of her hand
she wraps her arms around the stiff board
and hugs the page to her tiny chest.

Drool

October 21, 2010
Sometimes I feel like this is what my writing looks like.

Serenity held the paper and pen
like one who had waited a lifetime
for just such instruments;
rubbing them together like two dry sticks,
anticipating a spark
to set her little world on fire.
Turning the pen over and over,
her thumb unacquainted with opposing,
the button did not click, and yet
a long string of drool issued forth
leaving its mark upon the paper.

Pool of Serenity

October 20, 2010
You can look at this 3 ways.

I have an old water fountain
now filled with pebbles and rocks
that Serenity likes to play in.
She'll take the stones,
one or two in each hand,
and walk about turning them,
then tossing them,
then returning for more.
You can see the holes where she's been.

Ghost of Serenity

September 20, 2010

You're not dead.
Just not here.

Where'd she go?
Don't wave bye.

Blown kisses
fill the air.

Echoes of morning jabber
tickle my inner ear.

Toys are scattered across the floor.
No one is playing.

I eat my Cheerios®
alone.

You're not here.
We're not alive.

Serenity's First Birthday

August 6, 2010

I'll miss you when you're gone:

          pointy finger
          squint your eyes
          purse your lips
          slobber drool
          wobbley dance
          crab walking
          waddle down the hall
          peek-a-boo
          numma numma breakfast
          yay--clap, clap

I'll see you in the morning
for our walk among the trees.

Taste and See

June 14, 2010
Straight from the printer to the blog.


Serenity lay in my arm,
left hand supporting
the bottle of formula,
ever moving fingers of her right
wrapped around my pinky;
working the nipple,
she relaxed as I rocked.

Reading the Psalms of David,
trying to hold onto Serenity—
the uncoordinated ballet
of her tiny digits
fingering the pages
as she gnaws the cover.