I held Cierra again last night and fell in love again. I fed her while my sister took time to do other necessary things. Her eyes are so bright and watchful. I think she's going to be noisy. She looks around at everything, not focusing on anything, but seems to respond to sound and movement. She pooped and pooted several times--christening all. She cried a little when I tried to burp her, then silenced and stared at the lights as I rocked her, standing up. She fell asleep in my arms and even showed hints of snoring. Really she was breathing heavily--in a good sleep, smiling at sleep angels. I held her for a little over an hour before having to put her down in her baby bed. I kissed her little forehead and 'snuck' one on her right cheek. She's so soft and lovable and still frowns at nothing. Her little toes taste so sweet and are so perfect. Finally, Auntie had to leave. She didn't even budge when I lay her in her bed. I snapped this pic quickly with my cell phone.
It's May 2012 and nothing has changed since November.11. I am all smiles at my relationship and myself. My honey and I continue to amaze each other on a daily basis. We're still ever so 'in' with each other. I completed my MA in literature last May and I'm teaching four college English courses to really smart students. I am hopeful to enter a doctorate program soon. This way, I can run out.All is scary good.
upon hearing your voice life again expands like moon crest like pomegranates swell to the sun and you are patient because god calls
when he came for you this morning you were bent into the flower bed singing black hymns so he left you alone until this third afternoon but even then he found you elbow deep in jewel weed with a mouthful of figs from a nearby tree again he waited because each time seemed to him an inconvenience and a wrong moment
and it was your persistent humming that drove him up and back until he could get his timing perfect he waited another day or so until
your gardening tools rest into porch corners your paring knife shines deeply into a drawer your hair comb lies slanted in a shoebox your wedding band hides in the mattress your fishing rod stays stolen
the sound of your voice desires to sing or hum but this time is perfect he has covered you like lavender-colored silence but he has also added streaks of olive green and pink because this is what the other soul-folk has told him to do and he has become tired in the process and therefore begins to rush sonances of your body he finds you the least complex when you are not outdoors digging in that garden, humming hymns and thriving and for a moment he questions his own timing its perfection and everything goes accordingly until he finds you have buried fruit peels and wandering jew petals underneath your back this does not anger him but it tilts his agility to deliver you and in his own questioning and presence of smells that he cannot privilege all this over powers his choice all this reels his otherwise perfection into letting you go
when i see you sitting in the plush squares of limitless St. Augustine your eyes are lit like crystal warmed soil releases from each of your hands
how did i get to this point this point of knowing you for you are nearly a century old