The image of a woman stuns me -
My fiver year old daughter’s flower,
Left in green thin wrap to wilt
Now stuck through the water
In the giant plastic glass
I keep by my sink, opening,
Vibrant, in the incandescent light
As I brush my teeth and tongue
Spitting dreams one instant, then
Studying tooth stain and belly
Overlapping the new day
And my naked soul diffused.
A pink carnation spreads across the bath
As much aware of me as the effort
Needed to crush the moist petals
Isolates intent from joy
And fragile insights blossom
Into observation nearly lost.
Now, I delight; though, only now
A giant plastic glass filled
Sustains a few moments: embellishes
Simple life almost lost unnoticed
In the crisp and folded expectations
Of foregone conclusions.
Her mother stands naked too, her hand
Touching her soft skin wilting softer
And her soft ******* softer still – and desire
Crumbles unnoticed in a delicate heap -
Yet an unearthed Flower ***** the air and
Blooms easily through its final hours.
It somehow makes sense that
My daughter’s flower blooms
While the image of a woman stuns me,
And the water and light infuse my soul
Tightly aware that confounded and confused
I comfort her like a stem.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
The image of a woman stuns me -
My fiver year old daughter’s flower,
Left in green thin wrap to wilt
Now stuck through the water
In the giant plastic glass
I keep by my sink, opening,
Vibrant, in the incandescent light
As I brush my teeth and tongue
Spitting dreams one instant, then
Studying tooth stain and belly
Overlapping the new day
And my naked soul diffused.
A pink carnation spreads across the bath
As much aware of me as the effort
Needed to crush the moist petals
Isolates intent from joy
And fragile insights blossom
Into observation nearly lost.
Now, I delight; though, only now
A giant plastic glass filled
Sustains a few moments: embellishes
Simple life almost lost unnoticed
In the crisp and folded expectations
Of foregone conclusions.
Her mother stands naked too, her hand
Touching her soft skin wilting softer
And her soft ******* softer still – and desire
Crumbles unnoticed in a delicate heap -
Yet an unearthed Flower ***** the air and
Blooms easily through its final hours.
It somehow makes sense that
My daughter’s flower blooms
While the image of a woman stuns me,
And the water and light infuse my soul
Tightly aware that confounded and confused
I comfort her like a stem.
All Rights Reserved -Houston, 1992
Fatherhood and domestic vulnerability.
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