Upon Seeing an Ultrasound Photo of an Unborn Child
Tadpole, it's not time yet to nag you about college (though I have some thoughts on that), baseball (ditto), or abstract principles. Enjoy your delicious, soupy womb-warmth, do some rolls and saults (it'll be too crowded soon), delight in your early dreams — which no one will attempt to analyze. For now: may your toes blossom, your fingers lengthen, your sexual organs grow (too soon to tell which yet) sensitive, your teeth form their buds in their forming jawbone, your already booming heart expand (literally now, metaphorically later); O your spine, eyebrows, nape, knees, fibulae, lungs, lips... But your soul, dear child: I don't see it here, when does that come in, whence? Perhaps God, and your mother, and even I — we'll all contribute and you'll learn yourself to coax it from wherever: your soul, which holds your bones together and lets you live on earth. — Fingerling, sidecar, nubbin, I'm waiting, it's me, Dad, I'm out here. You already know where Mom is. I'll see you more directly upon arrival. You'll recognize me — I'll be the tall-seeming, delighted blond guy, and I'll have your nose. Thomas Lux