Charla at eleven months
She's the same
and not the same
one day to the next
She recognizes me
and when she looks happy
I recognize the happy look as hers
and I can't help or resist
my own reactions
But the straining of her limits
her need to get out of the chair
to get something done
It's like the brain itself
is teething
Either mind is breaking through
the painful barrier
between self and nonexistence
or thoughts like teeth
are breaking through her forehead
ready to gently chew
the world we're both in
posted by Alva Svoboda at 8:53 PM
1 Comments:
I first read "teething" as "seething"... and that initial mistake doubled back upon me with the qualification of "chewing" by "gently": such hungers of the living, endless, insatiable.
I was reminded of Brecht's line about the greedy banqueters eating up the feast of the world. But here we have a happy repaste, reminding us that, how do they say it, It's all good?
A light and sweet little poem, with, however, substance for the toothless and witless to chew on..
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