Snapshots At St. Arbuck’s ™

Little man

Bone of my bone

Flesh of my flesh

Tiny fingers reaching

As if for something to shut out that horrid light

Voice, wafer thin

Raised in protest at so traumatic an entry

So alien an environment

So naked

So…perfect

Down-like hair, black…like obsidian

An unruly mane

Lips puckering

In anticipation of mother’s nurture

Your eyes…

How they watch in wonder

As smiling faces are thrust frighteningly close

Meaningless babel

Raining down on ears unspoiled

You don’t know me

And yet you are only once removed from me

Flesh of my flesh

Bone of my bone

Into the eternal stream have you come

You are…Diego.

Man-child of my child

Welcome…