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For Jonathan
Startled by the crash of surf, my 2-year-old son said: "Be quite, ocean."
He gripped my hand: sand on lips, teddy bear,
Hot dog and crushed bun; new clothes
Tattered; sneaker lost; cheeks streaked war-paint black
From driftwood and grime.
He smiled. I clicked.
Later, with him snug in a sleeping bag,
I hiked a steep hill above our camp.
He woke as I stood at the top, raising his arms
For me to lift him. I could hear him calling,
Though he was thumb-sized.
He stopped crying after I'd held him for a while.
I knew I'd need to remain in reach
Until his fears receded.
© by Joseph Murphy.
Used with the author's permission.
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Joseph Murphy is a professional editor and writer. Author of six poetry collections, the most recent being Coast to Coast (Kelsay Books), his work has been published in numerous literary journals, including Living Poets, The Tower Journal and Talon Magazine.
Born in New Orleans and raised in Martha's Vineyard, Joe is fond of nineteenth century French poetry and lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado with his wife, Frances.
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joecot:
As a father (now grandfather) I can say I've been there, done that. The image of the thumb-sized boy "raising his arms for me to lift him" pierces my heart. Sometimes we just have to climb that hill. We just have to.
Posted 04/13/2017 11:21 AM
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TheSilverOne:
Ah, the mind of a two year old, thinking he could silence the ocean. Lovely Poem.
Posted 11/17/2014 11:11 PM
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