In Search of My Father 2017 Writing Project

In Search of My Father 2017 Writing Project
In Search of My Father, 2017 writing project supported by The National Lottery through the Arts Council of Northern Ireland

Sunday, 6 September 2015

TWO SONS


WHEN JOHNNY WEISMULLER DIED, TAKING HIS TARZAN YELL TO THE GREAT BEYOND, MY SON, DAVID, WAS BORN (1984)
  
They cut the cord and you didn’t fly
Like a deflating balloon because you were anchored,
First in your exhausted mother’s arms
For a welcome kiss and a baptismal teardrop,

Then to me, David, (“beloved’), for my moments,
My turn to gaze and smile and weep
At a beautiful, scrunched-up face, at flickering eyes,
At the tiny sounds of breathing, at new you.

They wrapped you like a tortilla, full of goodness,
Delicious and more than good enough to eat,
And a mariachi band played a Tex-Mex jig
Before fireworks spelled out “HELLO”.

At least that’s what I heard and saw
Under that strange hypnosis.

Ahhhhhhh...yee…ahh…ee...ah…yee…ah...ee...ahhhhhhhhh... 


WHEN TOM CRUISE WAS TAKING OUR BREATH AWAY AS MAVERICK IN TOP GUN, MY SON, STEVEN, WAS BORN (1986)


You don’t have to say it.
You just have to see it
To get it, to understand it,
To absorb it – joy.

You don’t have to hear it.
You just have to sense it,
To tap the rhythm,
To feel it – heartbeat.

Once you were black, white and grey fuzz
In a hospital snapshot, a shape, a puzzle,
Upside down, up to the light, a jigsaw piece
In a bigger picture, your picture, signed by you
With a wiggly trace of your miniature fingers.

We all gained.
Your brother, David, had a new wingman.

No comments:

Post a Comment