Second Letter to Ian

I start with an apology:

I’m sorry I didn’t write earlier

I took a while because I was afraid

that my words wouldn’t be good enough

to capture these miracles I’ve seen.

That is obvious now; they never will.

(Some friends used to say

in red lettered posters

that ‘done is better than perfect’

and they were right)

I write to tell you about the lessons I’ve taken

on the subject of time.

First, that the future does not exist,

yet you’ll imagine many futures,

like I do now,

thinking of future you.

Second, that there’s only now,

all that happens is at the present moment,

and you should be mindful of it - all else is waste.

Third, that memories are but a shadow of the present,

yet you’ll cherish some forever,

because they’re all that’s left

of a perfect past.

Fourth, that human time is not made of seconds

but rather of moments. 

In that sense you enlarged my existence

a thousand fold.

I collected some of our moments here

While your memory isn’t ready

and while mine hasn’t faded

These will go one day too

But for now we fight the fleetingness

with beauty.

I. Disarray and first bottle

Dry lips in the morning

Sore breasts which you wouldn’t take

A nurse that didn’t know the urgency of life

A cupboard impatiently opened

Pots and pans on the floor

A hastily opened box full of nutrition

Your first bottle

Relieved breaths

II. Drive

Never have I felt such clarity of purpose

as when doing things for you.

I drove to three cities because you needed me to

and no traffic or rain could bother me

Nothing would stop or distract me from my mission

to provide.

III. First Light

I remember watching the very first light appear

breaking one of our many sleepless nights

turning the dark sky grey

as the world turned, revealing itself

I held you in my arms then,

as I did many times before and after,

and understood everything.

IV. Warmth

I miss the time when you perennially wanted to be held

I’d walk around rooms everywhere,

In this continent or another

Sometimes I’d sing, or count in silence

And you were always so warm

V. Old new clothes

One day you wouldn’t fit

any single one of your clothes

When did you grow?

Were we not looking?

Your mother and I packed

everything, carefully, in a box

And hugged each other as the tears flowed

VI. Banana pure

Your first solid meal was banana pure

That must be quite common

A baby eating their first pure

But like many times since we met

I couldn’t really tell you why I teared up

It’s something about life

Rushing in, thunderously

VII. Past, present and future

I opened a door

And for a brief moment stepped out of time

My father was carrying me

I was carrying you

You were carrying a baby

May this cycle be repeated a thousand times.

VIII. Remote control, red balloon

You were always eager to explore

We encouraged you, of course,

But you struggled to do more

Like that day when you got

the remote control in one hand

and a red ballon in the other

and places to go

I asked you ‘what now’

And off you went

Walking by yourself