The River, Jordan

Jordan...that is what we were going to name him.
He had no inordinate expectations placed upon him,
no less than any unborn child:
Be all that your parents were not.
Go farther; accomplish more.
Be the glue that would save a union that was better
left undone in the first place.

He was going to have dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
That boy gave me more hope in seven weeks
than he could have ever realized.

He talks to me now. Asking me questions.
Not why-questions like you might think,
but how-questions
How machines work, and what does it matter anyway.
He would not be given to sudden action,
And he would keep his thoughts from scattering
so far afield like his father is famous for and
he would make his father almost healed.

And for all that I would want more.
I would want him to succeed, in spades.
I would push for him to score more
points in basketball and get better grades.

A strong chin and a sharp gaze
A heart-breaker; a mover and a shaker
He had more than just my hopes to raise.

I read to him at night... Aesop's Fables mostly.
Now my heart is worn like that bookcover.
And within me lie the seeds of children
I will have with other lovers.

I carry those seeds with me throughout each day.
As I carry his spirit with me.
His slight weight I can bear.
I hold him in my hands and lift with my legs.
I hold him in my heart day after day.
I know the way.

Fate is a cruel mistress. She gives a little
then takes all that you have.
Before him I had no need;
another little mouth to feed.

But just a few inches tall
He stood in the very center of my heart,
next to a place called Regret,
and pushed like Samson at the end
taking three thousand giants with him
leaving me feeling small,
leaving me with a hole in my soul
          too big to fill...
leaving me.

And even as he wishes that he were here
I wish for another child.
My heart trembles with cold fear
And my hand shakes as it reaches for a beer.
I think that he has been here.
Been here all the while,
whispering to me, telling me his story.
And even though there is no sound outside
I can feel the rain
pouring down....an unexpected flow.
become Cascading.
with angels and unborn children wading

Drops of water run down my face,
salty
like sweat, like tears, like blood.
Thunder echoes out of thick black space
The night is full of stars in hiding:
Brilliance ashamed of its own light.

And still he calls my name.

11.30.1998