A Newborn Girl at Passover
by Nan Cohen
Consider one apricot in a basket of them.
It is very much like all the other apricots--
an individual already, skin and seed.
Now think of this day. One you will probably forget.
The next breath you take, a long drink of air.
Holiday or not, it doesn't matter.
A child is born and doesn't know what day it is.
The particular joy in my heart she cannot imagine.
The taste of apricots is in store for her.
She's almost here, (7 weeks is not a long time, in the mind of a pregnant woman.) When I worry about all the sadness she will inevitably feel, all the horrible, non-apricot things she will encounter, I like to remember all the wonderful things in store for her. She is an individual already, but I hope she someday enjoys the following things:
The first time she reads something so wonderful and beautiful, that it makes her cry. I hope she has a book or a poem that she can barely stand to share with someone else because it causes a throat lump and a scratchy voice.
The first warm day after a long winter.
The feeling of accomplishment after working hard for a goal.
The moment she realizes she has found the person she will love forever, and the knowledge that this person loves her back.
Really good cheese.
Sleeping in on Saturday.
The first day of school (please bless that this child loves school.)
The last day of school (please bless that this child is sensible enough to realize the importance of summer.)
Tag at recess.
I keep hoping this is enough, in some small way, to make up for the things that keep me up at night. Unfairness, inequality, misunderstandings, mean people. I’m hoping her apricot moments are enough.
an individual already
Labels: sunday poem