Wednesday, August 05, 2009

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


Blogger TC said...

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..

12:53 AM  

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