Dylan and Winter
By Victor David,
MD
My daughter was a pregnant flower
first in the year of 96, then
came Dylan
a burglar stealing her day and night
who was not allowed to cry for meconium's curse.
We worried
anguished
wept
visited the NICU
and when he returned home a warrior
we uncorked the champagne
chilled a few weeks before.
Now his smiles and cries
are the promises that paint God's giggles
Reminding me as I sit in my winter
chasing that kid of
96 who plays
tag with snowflakes
to watch the snow gather on his hat,
gleam his eyes, coat his shoulder
so when I embrace him, I feel his laughter
scatter winter.
Dare I brush the snow away,
away before it melts to tears
that forecast the flutter of his wings
and my memories.
