Most of parts i and ii were excised from “What comes after.” I realized they didn’t really add anything to that poem, but could possibly become a poem of their own. And they did.
Before memory
i
Do you remember your first thought,
your first sight? Do you remember
becoming?
Can you call back the first time
I picked you up in my arms
and touched the pink new
leaves of your fingers?
Probably not.
These are my moments,
memories I will forever cherish.
Yet, you were here.
You existed.
Your life already was. Life,
already beyond
your powers of memory. You,
already beyond
the touch of recall.
ii
There are many more moments
I have the privilege
of holding in mind,
such as
the first time you stood
wobbling over your own two feet,
your first three shaky steps,
the very first time you rolled
onto your back, and
even your first word,
“Light.”
You may not remember
any of it. Still,
you were there—
you existed, lived, laughed
and flourished.
Your heart raced behind your ribs
like a rabbit’s.
Lightning arced
through the plasma in your veins
and kindled the presence
in your eyes.
iii
One day you will think back
to your first fuzzy memories,
maybe a yellow slide
at the nearby playground,
or the orange hue
of cottonwoods turning
toward winter, or perhaps
singing standards with Lola.
You may find yourself wondering
where you were before
blue swings and spiral slides,
before autumn scents
and colors, before old songs
with loving grandparents,
before drifting down from the stars
into mother’s womb.
All I can say is that you were
here before you remember
being,
and that all my life
I sensed you were there,
long before you were here.
