Never Mine

I held you once,
a small miracle
attached and expelled
from the most intimate
part of me,
but you were never really mine.

You dreamed beside
a yellow cat,
flailed your tiny arms
beside a warm mouth of
purr,
soft and unafraid,
each.

You gave no cry
for attention,
small specks of dust
and wee clenched fist
held your interest,
and the clamor of activity around,
absorbed your need.


As you grew,
a map unfolded behind
your green gaze
that passed me
and traveled away
into distant dreams.

There,
you listened and spoke
with many voices
before you learned your own.
There,
time granted you grace
to fill up the space
your soul occupied.

I watched as you
accepted the miracle
of moon and stars,
made things happen
with your hands,
grasped truth,
were angered by deception,
knew love,
accepted failure
and discovered the strength
of your own determination.

I held you once,
a small miracle
attached and expelled
from the most intimate
part of me,
but you were never really mine.

Still, wanting to touch some part of you,
I reached out to grasp your hand
and through some trick of time and mind,
you had become a man.


For my son, Kenric Allen Jameson, on his birthday

This poem was a finalist in the Blue Mountain Arts poetry contest, many years ago.