David Adès

LIFTING MY LITTLE GIRL IN THE DARKNESS OF MY ROOM
For Sarai

 

Lifting my little girl in the darkness of my room,
to take her from my bed to hers,
I am in my own cocoon – outside the night

is full of unseen stars, the streets are white with snow,
street lamps cast their hazy glow – and
she is buttermilk sweet, she is sleepy warm,

she is rag doll heavy, arms hanging limply by her sides,
she is an even breath, a still pond, restful —
reminding me of nights over fifty years ago

when I fell asleep in the back seat of my father’s car,
nights driving around looking at Christmas tree lights
or visiting relatives in Klemzig, nights when

I was overtaken by sleep, to feel myself lifted gently
into my father’s arms, strong then, embracing,
letting me yield into them as into slumber,

feeling at home in the world, loved, protected,
that I was where I belonged, feeling a long lost bliss
that I wish my girl will one day remember like this.



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