22
Sep
11

Gliding

I watch

As she moves

Gracefully,

From moment

To moment

And place

To place,

As if gliding

Above the surface

Of everything,

With a quiet elegance

And a stoic beauty

That I can hardly comprehend.

She speaks

In hushed tones

To our daughter

In a language

I don’t yet

Know-

But the two of them

Comprehend

Each other.

Her tiny and delicate

Body

Is strong

From countless

Laps

In the pool

Each morning

Before the sun

Rises from its bed

Of a far horizon.

She comes home each morning

As I stand

In the kitchen

Steaming milk

For her coffee,

Half awake

And semi-coherent,

With one

Or both

Daughters

Clinging

To the edges

Of my fleeting sleep.

When the fog

Begins to lift,

I see her

Again-

My tiny beacon

Of beauty

And sanity.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

September 22, 2011

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