TO MY CHILD BEFORE SHE ARRIVES by Brian Simoneau

/ / Issue 13, Uncategorized

There is a man you will learn
            to call uncle. He will teach you
the answer to many questions

            is land bridge. There will be truth
in what he says. He will call you
            something other than your name

no matter what your name is.
            No matter what your name is
you might not like it. It is likely

            you will have lots of hair,
likely in places you would not
            expect. I have always tried

to play up my love
            for bears so even body fat seems
tribute to mothers who kill

            to protect their young. I hope
I would do the same. Let us
            see what happens. Whatever happens,

most of us feel we were born
            too late but really there are
no good old days. Some days

            there will be only swallowed silence
and sobbing: the world is
            not always kind and rarely makes sense

so when the sun goes down
            we will sing our songs and talk
about morning. Mountain ranges

            rise from valleys and forests
make them look green, but mountains are
            mostly gray underneath, stone

we will sometimes climb simply
            to stand on top of. Sometimes
at sunset it looks like mountain

            and cloud are the same. When it does
please sit with me and watch.
            Lakes are best for swimming

and rivers for fishing but oceans
            wash away feelings you cannot find
names for. No matter what,

            drying your feet of cold water
will make them feel better
            than you can imagine,

especially after a day spent
            walking uneven ground. Reaching
the end of days, it is common

            to ask, “Why are we here? Where
are we going? How do we get there?”
            There are lots of answers.

You will have to find most of them
            yourself. It will involve lots
of walking on uneven ground.

            It might involve trying
to walk across water. You could do
            worse than wet feet. There will be

sobbing and silence, unkindness,
            love, and laughter. You could do
lots worse. You could do lots. Do lots.

 

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