Monday, April 18, 2011

Little Hands

He has small hands but
Quite a reach
That’s my conclusion for the evening
I want to be profound
To sum up human existence but
In my quest to do so
The part I am summing up
Becomes smaller and smaller
The more profound I become
The less I am being profound about
It is a continuous retreat
Away from philosophy and
History to
In the Western Hemisphere
The Eastern Seaboard
My son’s room
My son
At eight at night
I’m trying to conjure verses in my head
While singing Springsteen and
He’s rubbing my back
Hugging me
Shoving his hands back between us and
Then back to hugging
His little hands slipping easily in and out of the space between us
Then hitting one small spot on my back and
Spreading out
Clearing my mind of everything but
His hands
Is that small or
Is it big

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