De Papa

We met before you were born,
I knew who you were right away,
How could I not?
You were of my own flesh.

These words sprout fevered and prophetic,
In dream and memory is where we met,
You don’t yet exist, not in the real world,
You haven’t been born yet, not in the real world.


The first vision was of you as a bloodied infant
That lasted for a whisper of a moment and
As I gazed on, you grew and grew till you
A child of three and me thirty something met.


You had just woken from your slumber,
You were looking for a drink of water,
You had a story to tell me and a hug to give
You were looking for me, your father.


Pride, fear and awe are what I remember,
Washing over me like a flood of electric anticipation,
Your intelligence overawed, your insight cut cold,
Your vulnerability made your papa protective.

We parted as I tucked you in, kiss on forehead,
Dimmed the lights in your room and
Stared at you from the door till you fell asleep,
I fought my deepest urge to stay and walked away.


I wept quietly when I woke from this fever dream,
The lonely dark, the darkest dark, the one before dawn,
Was what greeted me, the real world with its unreality,
My fever broken and tears dry; exhausted I slept again.


We met before you were born,
I knew who you were right away,
How could I not?
Till we meet again my sweet.