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A Father’s Lullaby
Oisín Breen I went to the wrong funeral once. Having begun the day arguing with my wife, I said our child looked Like I will, in ten years: Too fragile To survive. And he heard us shouting, too, Though he was too young To understand. But his sister, Wrung by love-pangs, Prompted by her changing Too fast to cohere, She heard us too, And she hid him. She hid him in her arms And said hush. And I wished it were autumn And that she would soon hold me, too– As one day she must– Then, with finality, Her whispers could Bring an end To time. |
Cynthia Yachtman, Hummingbird
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