A poem for a birthday boy, from me
21 February 2008 / 21 February 1992
I am thinking back through time to when I first held you,
asking that you have a long, healthy, happy life here,
in the wrapping of new cloth, kissing you for the first time,
with Dr Chong informing me you were okay.
watching you in your mother’s open and welcoming care,
you were close to her, tired in the aftermath of the Caesarean act,
the post anaesthesia, post dawn emerging in contemplating
half anything in the effect of the pre morning calm.
I went to an open air Chinese coffee shop, maybe for a beer;
I can’t recall that, but I can the warm pacing morning
by the front door grill, waiting in unbridled exciting excitement,
not knowing what to expect, a new girl or boy.
A year and a bit later, your sister came out to see us, too,
greeting her, kissing the welcome in matching way,
wary after the warning of ‘complications’, but no problem;
now a teenage bint trying to checkmate rhythm squash, piano.
I broke a happy birthday to you this east coast morning,
then you had a shower, scenting fresh, with hair neat,
the ‘wah, haute couture’ shirt and trousers white and green,
a gunslinger of new, book bag hanging over your shoulder to the rear.
Now I am here, yet again, thinking and pacing my way
through those teenage years to you both,
I am thinking back when you were able to just act in mime,
through a ticking moment to the original hug to a little kipping pack,
the Chinese nurse showing me that you were a boy;
hanging in with gurgle in the baby bouncing machine,
the post bathing baby aroma, new, unaware,
the Christmas with you two in mini breakfast cereal, in hat.
The Boughrood garden, with the no go area apple tree;
waiting for Granddad, clutching me in half terror when the 737 came;
watching you and Rhiannon in kampung house porch,
thinking back through time trying to reach a memory yet again.
in a bite of night writing to you, about a birthday boy…
thank you.
