peter everwine
for ava, in the coming days Your first glimpse of me frightened you and made you cry: a stranger, scraggly beard and glasses, a slack and weather-beaten face. I can’t blame you. Even I, at times, startle, catching myself in the bad light of a bathroom mirror. So recently arrived, you like one foot in the circle of the familiar. I watch you at mealtime—mushing your food as if you knew the truth of living hand to mouth, slinging the heft and sweet muck of it with such delight it turns your tears to laughter. I might wish for you the gift already yours: May you hold this joy in mind and turn to it when you have grown, dear child, decorous and civil.
100
