Monday, June 25, 2012

It Wasn't All for Naught

It was all for this –

the holding of breath to the toddle
of the next, next generation;

fat fingers tracing maps
along the face of the first generation;

giggles upon tickles
upon arms wrapped around necks;

warm-oven chocolate-wafts
and shared glasses of milk;

tongue-and-groove grip,
perfectly tight, perfectly loose;

teary backward glances
and tiny hands learning to flap goodbye.


Poetry Quarterly - Summer/Winter 2012

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