A poem, because I’m in that kind of mood, and because if you’ve not read Louise Glück, you ought to:
The Gift
Lord, You may not recognize me
speaking for someone else.
I have a son. He is
so little, so ignorant.
He likes to stand
at the screen door, calling
oggie, oggie, entering
language, and sometimes
a dog will stop and come up
the walk, perhaps
accidentally. May he believe
this is not an accident?
At the screen
welcoming each beast
in love’s name, Your emissary.
* From Louise Glück, Descending Figure
