At three
Michael looks up at me
from the pillow of my leg,
and asks,
How old are you Papa?
And I see one pure life
unblemished,
full of energy and light,
and I reply,
Michael,
I am twenty-three of your lives,
which is a great distance
in the sky.
Suffice to say,
Papa is old,
a little like Forte
in Beauty and the Beast.
But some of that
was said in silence.
Michael understood.
His eyes are brilliant
with childhood.
I did say,
Michael,
someday you will tell
your grandchild
what I am telling you.
You will live as many lifetimes
as I,
and in silence I continued,
and I
will watch every one of them
with love and pride,
and hold you in my arms
when you cry,
and shout with you in triumph.
And sit with you
when you pray,
and whisper,
you are destiny’s creation
and Papa’s dearest love.