26
Oct
08

untitled 10/25/08

Her tiny

Snores

Shatter

The quiet

As I sit

Here

Trying to find the words

That have been

Trapped

In my head

And trying (hoping)

To escape.

Like a puppy

With a sinus

Problem,

Her little

Grunts

Reach me

Here

As I type

Away

With a grin

And a growing

Love

For her.

She’ll giggle

Tomorrow

When I tell

Her

About her little pig-like noises,

With that

Self-involved joy

That

Only a child

Should possess.

She’ll probably

Spend the morning

Imitating the sounds

In an attempt

To make me laugh

With her.

When she was

A newborn,

I would

Stand

Over her crib

To listen to her breathe

And watch

Her

Tiny chest

Rise and fall,

Praying that each breath would not be her last and that she would live to be the oldest person ever.

That fear

Keeping me

Awake

For nearly two years.

And now,

Her sounds

No longer

Startle me,

But

I still stand

Over her

And watch her

Breathing

In the dark

Of her room,

Praying

That her life

Is always

A good one.

Timothy Vance Jackson

10/25/08

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