Saturday, January 22, 2011



John Preston Nydegger

aka Jack

I must confess that some days seem wasted. Like when we used to get the newspaper and forget to bring it in until two days later. It would be wet, or wrinkled from drying the the sun after being unintentionally watered. Then it would sit on the counter and, since we don’t have recycling with our garbage service, thrown out not browsed or picked through. Days seem to speed by unnoticed then left for pick up

I don’t want it this way. I remember holding Jack after my most painful childbearing experience. The intense cry he released pacified me, calmed my hips and back. I examined him over and over again. His stick-up blond hair and narrow feet. His intense gaze when he heard my voice. He knew me. I held him a few days and nights later. Days and nights that swirled and heaved with unexplained crying and uncomfortable recovery. I was a bit disillusioned that the instant bonding process had left. Yet, he looked at me as I spoke, and I was repentant. Our souls seemed to leave our bodies and tie together and then a piece of that union was sent back to each of us. I began to understand his wails and fusses. It wasn’t always instant but, we worked on it together.

It seems so long ago that all this happened. Yet, luckily when I look in those eyes and he purses his wet red lips, I remember that tiny babe. He still finds my eyes to get his jumbled messages across. In them, I find the decoder I need to recycle this memory and help him navigate.

1 comment:

Aaron said...

A Patch of Snow
THERE’S a patch of old snow in a corner,
That I should have guessed,
Was a blow-away paper the rain
Had brought to rest.

It is speckled with grime as if, Small print overspread it,
The news of a day I’ve forgotten—
If I ever read it.