Pride

Baby-proofing is not men wearing condoms
or women popping pills,

it is a process that involves locking
mechanisms
and elevation.

In various combinations,
I have tried both-
but now she comfortably reaches
my heights
and effortlessly spins back and forth
opening lockers with magic numbers
that are hers alone.

I have hidden all painful memories,
the sharpest points,
behind my forehead.
Too close for comfort,
she reaches my shoulders
and rest her head there.

She is drawn toward the sealed letters,
she wonders, prods, and asks
what do they  say

yet I know she will choke on the words
made not in her mother tongue.

She persists, pleading,
if you knew-why didn't you?

I don't have all the answers,
I took all the chances,
she stole glances
while I stuffed my pockets
with copper thoughts

being the safest place,
unlike the mouth
we learn the heavier our legs become,
we find memories can be-come
choking hazards.


Painting by By Waugh, Ida, d. 1919 (artist); L. Prang & Co. (publisher) (Flickr: Baby Seated) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The possibilities of a fractal

The way I see it-

art contains real magic.

Like blinking, or like an automaton,-always on.

Projecting its wizardry when no one’s there to see it.

A child is a miracle-

of busy blurred lines.

Making it difficult for others to focus on them directly,

blinded by their angelic buzz of innate electricity.

Art is the grandchild of God-

or whatever grand-father you Believe in.

It’s immaculate conception and delivery are born proof,

of a source, the straw that was pulled, the ignition point.

We are the ghosts of our grandchildren.

Now.

We have to pave the way, clearing our Karmic path

to Here.

Art arrests shape-

holds it captive-

to represent-

likeness-ness.

Our family tree,

rooted in our orchards of History,

bears ripe fruit of juicy inspiration,

tastes like sweet familiar childhood in the shape of a fractal.

Image By Randomness (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, 'Fractal face of Beauty, 2008'.