8-6 SOn Day

As I type, Emma spent the night and in the living room, munches on banana, plays with all sorts of toys, babbling constantly. hence:


You Were My God

You were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb

—Ps. 22:10


On the S-shaped, metal patio rocking chair,

a slight nod on this oversized spring nudges

grandpa and Emma up and down up and down,

buoy-bobbing on green seas.


Her eyelashes flutter still as

she swoons into a baby dream

on my chest, milk

curdling on her lower lip.


As Wisteria fragrance crests through porch screens,


during     each     bob     I     silently     whisper


Abba          Abba         Abba