A Poem for My One Year Old Son Who Keeps Being Mistaken for a Girl

My little son
How can I begin
To talk about you
You–who burst forth
From me one year ago
A ball of pink
Delicately folded urgency
Screaming to devour
Foodsleeplove
Like a furiously animated
Rose bud
In a time-lapse film

My little son
You are on loan to me
For perhaps three
Half- a-dozen years
Before I must generously
Give you up
And already I am you:
A child
Forced to share a treasure
I am greedy to keep
So much more
Than ships
And sails
And puppy dog tails
Though undeniably
You are all these since
White porcelain ships
Adorn your attic haven
And dogs make you shriek
In primal delight

My little son
You are molding my soul
Into a cup
From which you can drink in life
And when time comes
To share you
You will not leave me
Unchanged

My little son
You are all cheeks
Hair like a caress
Eyelashes opening
To the most magnificent show
In town
Your glee
Shatters our winter home
With tropical abandon

My little son
I do not know
How karma works
Or whether the earth
Is destined for betterment
In this life or the next
My little son
I am not rich
I cannot promise you
The world
Or even part of it
But I can promise to
Be awed
Be grateful
In the ordinary
Hallowed now
With you

Copyright Iole Damaskinos 2005