For Connor James Nye, 3 months old
You smile at everyone. When lifted, toted,
you hold [1]onto shoulder or sleeve,
gazing curiously, each room or face.
Irish sheep, stuffed puppy, your daddy’s clown.
Dwelling in a tender current of care,
you know nothing [2]details of the footnote of cruelties people do
to one another.
Tiled ceilings, arching rooms. The villages of Palestine
could still be neatly terraced in your brain.
When you smile, we might all be wishing each other well.
When you startle at a loud sound,
await the power of softness
to settle you down. There is no other power in your world.
Hunger, interest, kicking, joy
Contributor
