Winter 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 1 Poetry |

The Hammock

When I lay my head in my mother's lapI think how day hides the stars,the way I lay hidden once, waitinginside my mother's laughter. And I rememberhow she carried me on her backbetween home and the kindergarten,once each morning and once each afternoon.I don't know what my mother's thinking. When my son lays his head in my lap, I worryHis lips, swollen with his father's kisses,won't keep his father's worries from becominghis. I think, Dear God, and rememberthere are stars we haven't heard from yetthey have so far to arrive. Amen,I think, and I feel almost comforted.I've no idea what my child is thinking. Between two unknowns, I live my life.And what's it like? Between my mother's hopes,older than I by coming before me,and my child's wishes, older than Iby outliving me, what's it like?Is it a door, and good-bye on either side?Is it a window, and eternity on either side?Yes, yes, and a little singing between two great rests.

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When I lay my head in my mother's lapI think how day hides the stars,the way I lay hidden once, waitinginside my mother's laughter. And I rememberhow she carried me […]

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