What It Means to Not Have a Grandchild
by Edie Abrams
No smooching a bellybutton.
No caressing a cheek or sniffing the scent of innocence
from the top of a head.
No holding, hugging, enfolding, rocking back-and-forth
as if nothing else in the world exists.
No counting fingers and toes in a warm bath
with baby balanced against knees.
No hearing the giggles of peek-a-boo,
that delight better than ice cream on a sweltering day.
No reading aloud with an exaggerated “I’m coming to get you,”
fingers spidering from toes to the Michelin Man neck.
No singing silly songs like “Beautiful Doody” to the tune of “Beautiful
Dreamer,”
or the ones your Mom and Bubbe sang in Polish, German, Spanish, or
Yiddish.
No watching each breath when each new puff is a sign
that a robin will sing in the dawn of a new day.
~
Edie Abrams retired from the NYS Assembly 100 years ago, and
has been writing poetry since she developed the typical mother-daughter
relationship during her teenage years, a million years ago.
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Kind of sad, but wonderful, heartfelt images! Brava!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, beautiful!
ReplyDeleteA million or
ReplyDeletea hundred years or only
two without grandchildren
yet you sing
and sing. And the longing
your heart holds
unlocks a gilded
haven for this bruised
and quiet heretic.