With apologies to Davis for bringing back some childhood memories, I was reminded of this poem by the latest round of news featuring the coelacanth.
Lessons for Me
The
way he reminds me that the ancient fish
called
coelacanth, is not spelled as it
sounds,
while
we snuggle on the couch
and
debate his dream of playing baseball
or
discovering a new rock or fish.
How
he celebrates in the end zone
by
letting the football roll down his fingers
as
if he’d always known what to do.
And
says he is different from other kids,
but
can’t say why, only that he can run fast,
yet
doesn’t have a trophy or ribbon to prove it.
The
way he sleeps so assuredly on his back,
arms
splayed wide, sheets kicked off,
face
calmed as if kissed by the sun,
while
the ceiling fan blows a breeze through his dreams
and
Mickey Mouse nestles against his chin.
How
his brown hair sometimes forms a nest
and
on school mornings he shyly asks for me to fix it.
But
other times, as he sprints down the street,
his
strands of hair appear to be
feathers
on wings that make him soar.
The
way he swings his legs during piano practice,
sticking
out his tongue as he attempts
to
reach a full octave with his small smooth hands
while
playing Carol of the Bells allegretto
because
he likes to feel his fingers fly.
How
he asks me, What was the best moment in your
life,
and
despite all that I have come to know,
he
quickly interrupts, I know- it’s me, right?
And
he tells me, You’re my best thing to
happen mommy.
I
protest and say, What about hitting a
grand slam?
Or doing 45 math problems in a minute?
What about taking on the killer wave in
the ocean,
riding boogey boards with cousin Zach?
And
he says, But you bought the boogey board,
Mommy,
and showed me how to ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment