Things have been busy in my world lately. I haven't been writing a lot, but I have had moments where a poem has popped in my head. I have loved Michael Ondaatje's poetry for a long time, and this one is probably one of my favorites. There have been a million times when i have known exactly what he felt when he wrote this one.
Griffin calls to come and kiss him goodnight
I yell ok. Finish something I'm doing,
then something else, walk slowly round
the corner to my son's room.
He is standing arms outstretched
waiting for a bearhug. Grinning.
Why do I give my emotion an animal's name,
give it that dark squeeze of death?
This is the hug which collects
all his small bones and his warm neck against me.
The thin tough body under the pyjamas
locks to me like a magnet of blood.
How long was he standing there
like that, before I came?