Bad Poetry: Things I Want to Remember about My Kids

 

Things I Want to Remember about My Kids

How Harrison looked at the digging machines;

How curly his baby hair was;

How he would stare at the children playing on the hillside,

Curious and longing.

I want to remember how he flapped his hands when he was excited,

as though trying to fly

And how pleased he was

When he learned how to swim.

I want to remember how Theo

Carried a glass container of paper clips

And collected shells and acorns;

How he wanted to build

A giant mechanical T-Rex

Out of junk.

The sounds he made

While he played with his Lego collection

On the dining room table.

There really is such a thing

As innocence.

Is it cruel

To want them to hold on to it

For as long as possible?

Or am I doing them

A disservice?

I recall my older neighbor Mark

Telling me he missed

A little hand

Reaching into his.

Harrison has big, sweaty paws

But he still

Reaches them into mine

when we walk the streets.

I want Theo

To always be fascinated

With what he finds in the world.

I want Harrison

To discover his place.

Most of all,

I want the child in them

To be there, somewhere

Forever.