I sit on the bench, bathed in the sun,
Listening to water, watching him run.
Tiny feet dance where mine used to play,
And I think of your gifts—
Candy at the end of the day.

Now I’m the one pushing gently,
Afraid of the swing’s height,
But his giggles assure me—
He trusts that with me, it’s all right.

I wonder what filled your heart as you watched me grow,
I can guess the answers, but I’ll never know.
They tell me I’m the best—but I knew the best.
No praise can soften the ache in my chest.

I try, I love, I give all I can,
But your shoes were never meant for another to stand.

On yellow sheet of faded whites and blacks,
With twenties' laughter peaking over hats,
A bride in white beside her groom in slacks,
Across the window, near the bedside sat.

The daises fresh were kept in vase at first,
But peaceful days were lost to tiny hands,
By second year, the days were spent in jest,
The tiny terror tracking trails of sand!

As days passed candles longer stayed at nights,
As lady kept her vigil over food,
So, she and he could catch the starry sights,
But not before the child was tucked in bed.

The lady bakes her man's beloved bread,
With sweetest, crunchy crust and spicy smell.
Just after kissing lady, out he fled,
With coffee aftertaste from morning bell.

The son is playing throw and catch with dad,
While heaving ball no farther than four rolls.
With strut triumphant, holding spam in hand,
Declares that she had saved five cents in sale.

The husband washing dishes after meal,
While heart of hearts with needle, mends the rips,
In summer rains, he repairs the roof-seal.
They both in winter enjoy skinny dips.

The child has fever burning one o' two,
The mother cried before the lord and kneeled,
The father threatened doctor that he'd sue,
To cure his son whatever bill it reeled.

The boy is charged and spanked for ***** mouth,
The boy had grown three-fifths a quarterstaff!
The boy then moved away to room in south,
As bed no longer fits their two and half.

The family sets out for Sunday church,
In tight and formal dress with sulky teen.
And after sermon stop for early brunch,
Then homeward bound for chores yet unseen.

As dandelion the boy has flown afar!
The lady knits as Christmas drifts away.
The lord of house has lost the balding war!
She hides from mirrors showing white and gray.

Awaiting granddaughter’s letters every morn,
And taking longer walks along the lake.
While holding me to breast, they softly warn,
That only death together may them take.

Then moved away from lovely bedside stand,
And packed inside the cardboard box with rest,
In shadowed attic I was left to guard,
The tales of dad and mom were laid to rest.

You were born on a Wednesday.
It was snowing, I think.
I nearly died, and you too,
My blood pressure screaming as your heart rate bobbed and weaved,
A reaction to the terrible ordeal of being born.

The night I learned you were a girl
I lay in bed alone and asked you about yourself.
What is your name?
Beatrice,
you said.
Bee.
A name all your own, belonging to only you.
Beatrice the First:
Shakespeare’s snap dragon heroine;
Dante’s ethereal guide.
Traveler and pollinator;
Wings and a stinger.

Daddy was scared but I didn’t know until later.
He made jokes and played “Something’s Rattling, Cowpoke” by Ben Gibbard on the Bluetooth and held my right leg when it was time to push.

And suddenly there you were.
More alive than the Holy Spirit on Sunday morning,
Bigger than poetry
Bright as a technicolor daydream
And so substantial.
We did it. We made it.

The Tibetans believe that we are all wandering souls.
That crazy movie, Enter the Void, I think about it all the time.

We choose.

Did you choose me?
A willful, chronically sleep-deprived, anxious mess?
How did you know it would work out?
How did you know that my life would not start until, with an audience of doctors and nurses and your family, you were laid in my arms that cold night?
I have such doubts but this I know:
I will choose you every moment of every day and  still
it will not be enough to repay you for giving me the gift of yourself.