They tell me it’s about getting past this part.
That once you’re 3—4—6 months old
it’ll just be so fun. You’ll interact.
And yet, while there are things
I wouldn’t choose to stand
amid (colic, whole feeds rivering up),
why would I want to rush your arrival to the place
where sheet cakes and drone wars begin?
Yesterday you lifted your head
off my shoulder and held it there briefly
(toward one of their “milestones”)
and I smiled, though a real sadness ran through.
Later, alone on your back in a dim room,
you stared unblinking at “your poster”—
depiction of deep space that transfixes you daily—
as I watched from the other side
of the cracked door.
They tell me it’s about getting past this part.
I tell you to take your time.
Whatever, however it is for you,
I hope it holds. I hope you hold it
as long as you possibly can,
before the world, this world, crashes in.
--me
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