Some adults, if they are lucky, overcome whatever losses they suffered early; the childhood horrors large and small. My children have been my gravity belt; they hold my center; not in a way that I must hold onto them; but rather through the tenuous utter faith that we love one another and are in this life together, come what may. Gravity/grave. Is it a grave responsibility? I don't think so. I think I am their gravity too. And if I go with what Sara said, I'm also the lighthouse. This poem is not about me. It about a father and his daughter. She's part of his gravity.
His Heart
Impecunious planet,
Denied a moon,
Erratic orbit.
Orbited by
A sanguineous heart,
Bereft of center.
In this inimical atmosphere,
A barefoot warrior
Wings through his heart.
Julia plants
Gardens of tulip
Rose trees and
Full leafed trees
Birds, butterflies,
Over his navicular.
Lassoing the heart,
She tethers
Precious gravity.
Jm oct 28 2007
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