Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem- and today May 4, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:25 pm
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Today

is one day closer to

The Day

when he goes away.

Flashbacks this morning

to junior high,

“Get up!  Your dad is ready!”

“But Mommmmmm!”

You’re too old for this, my boy.

The day is coming,

when you move south

to live your next adventure.

Get up and face today

because you’re here so briefly

and today is unfolding

 

 

quote- babies: possibilities and reality March 16, 2014

Filed under: Quotations — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:15 pm
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My daughter was born on Good Friday, and Easter Sunday found me in the hospital chapel.  The pastor was speaking about change.  I sat in the back and bawled.  I didn’t know exactly why I was crying, but I was overwhelmed with post-partum hormones and the realization that my life would never be the same.  This conversation between characters Claire and Jenny reminded me of that time in my life.

“I’ve thought that perhaps that’s why women are so often sad, once the child’s born,” she said meditatively, as though thinking aloud.  “Ye think of them while ye talk and you have a knowledge of them as they are inside ye,  the way you think they are.  And then they’re born, and they’re different—not the way ye thought of them inside at all.  And ye love them, o’ course, and get to know them the way they are.. but still, there’s the thought of the child ye once talked to in your heart, and that child is gone.  So I think it’s the grievin’ for the child unborn that ye feel, even as ye hold the born one in your arms.”  She dipped her bead and kissed her daughter’s downy skull.

                “Yes,” I said.  “Before…it’s all possibility.  It might be a son, or a daughter.  A plain child, a bonny one.  And then it’s born, and all the things it might have been are gone, because now it is.”              

                …”And a daughter is born, and the son that she might have been is dead,” she said quietly.  “And the bonny lad at your breast has killed the wee lassie ye thought ye carried.  And ye weep for what you didn’t know, that’s gone for good, until you know the child you have, and then at last it’s as thought they could never have been other than they are , and ye feel naught but joy in them.  But ‘til then, ye weep easy.” 

(Diana Gabaldon in Dragonfly in Amber  p. 549)

 

poem- parenthood September 26, 2013

On a non-stop eight hour drive,

we paused for fuel.

“What?” you asked

As you intercepted smirks

passed over your head,

when you climbed into the back seat

after the gas station bathroom break.

“Nothing,” we said, as we pulled

back onto the highway.

Even though your sister had been

traumatized when I left her

standing in the driveway as we tore off to the bus stop

that time,

while you waved at her from the back seat

and waited for me to notice,

this time

when your dad slammed the car door,

buckled up,

and drove away,

destination in his mind,

she was the one who said,

“Missing anyone?”

so when you climbed into the car,

you never even knew

you’d ever been left behind.

 

Baby boy June 14, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:17 pm
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Baby boy,

blue blanket tucked into your chin,

Thumb in in mouth, jaw moving tch-tch-tch-tch.

Perfect tiny face,

an animated melon

beneath the blanket,

immersed in the sweet scent of diaper powder.

I blink.

Baby boy,

Body stretched across the mattress,

Toes draped over the edge,

blankets splayed across your waist,

whiskers bristling your chin.

Mouth agape: GRZZZZ-GRRRRZ-GrrrrrrZ

in the pungent scent of sweat.

Baby boy.

.

.

.

(Even when they’re men, their mothers see the babies they once held in their arms.)

 

 
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