I.
That summer
every morning
I came to watch your little girl
grow more like you, great champion
of her heart, king of all her world.

As I brushed
her golden hair
and tied it in a pretty bow,
I’d sing of Puff, magic dragon,
then whisper, “Hey, there, did you know

which girl’s the
luckiest of
all the girls I know?” She’d laugh, shake
her head no. I’d tickle her, say,
“It’s you! It’s you, for goodness sake.”

I told her
how you loved her
more than arms stretched wide ‘round the earth.
Together we thanked God for how
you’d loved her since before her birth.

Strolling and
swimming, Elmo
and her favorite naptime tape –
staccato memories of a life
that seems so far-off, long ago.

Ariel,
fair mermaid of
crystal sea ages not, but she
has grown into a woman now
with little memory of me.

I wish she
knew how I loved
her, wish she knew I wished her well.
Whether she will ever know how
loved she is only time will tell.

II.

He was born
on the first day
of the third spring that would follow –
a seed of joy in cold winter
of a life that felt so hollow.

I took him
out, into light,
though others bid me swaddle him
in dim circumstance and pray, pray.
I ventured forth instead on limb

of faith, reached
for sign of life
and love to which we both might cling.
You crossed our path that day and my
heart lifted; my soul sang again.

You took him
then in your arms,
breathed hope into his waiting eyes.
You blessed us both that day. You were
unanticipated surprise.

“You should have
called,” you told me.
“It’s so very good to see you.
He’s so perfect. I know you’re so
proud – and I’m proud of you both, too.”

We stood a
moment more, then –
tender way you looked at me – I  
wished then first what I always wish
upon the brightest star could be.

I wished you
knew how I loved
you, wished you knew I wished you well.
Whether you will ever know how
loved you are only time will tell.