I entertain the thought of not being able to see my water babe grow big enough to swim across the arctic waters
So does my wife
In her ladybug bikini
How will the red of the ladybugs’ wings run in the cold black water ?
I say, thank you Clovique, for fast-forwarding my life to a grassless hill in Karawang
A modest river in the non-existent trees
What will you do to remember your mother and father, child ?
Your mother’s slumped doll head fast asleep feeding you through a cracked teat ?
Her backbreaking determination to express herself in the middle of the night
Her tireless understanding of a husband dozing off to dreams of MadAss Kymco Trend Spartan
I can’t expect you to remember things you don’t yet understand, child
But be good to your mother
She of the Casper-arms and eyes
I will pray in my own secular way so she can witness you bloom into an angel with the widest wing-span in the adult universe
So she can guide you through your first trip across all the points in all possible and impossible universes
You owe her, child, your life
You don’t owe me anything
(Except a kiss on my cold cheek when I’m dead. I’ve always wanted to know if the dead can still feel things they desperately want to.)