She’ll be here – yet ambivalence
is the moonlight on my bedroom floor,
moonlight whose heart is turbulence
reaching my windows and door…
I feel she’ll see joy walking on her floor,
joy maybe carrying her all over earth,
yet dangerous is the human birth.
Shall I, as millions of parents do,
feed her the “light” as spread by mine,
later pour for her what I take to be wine,
feeding and pouring my confusion too?
She’ll be here – yet I can’t avert what’s true,
that while I’ve grown, I’m far from wise,
that confusion still stirs behind confident eyes.
Respectability means nothing in wisdom’s eyes
nor does financial independence.
She’ll be here – this child received
in joy, celebration – ambivalence.
I can prod her into doing well in school,
but what is highest, subtlest is not taught there,
perhaps can’t be taught and is rare.
She may leave it an educated fool,
no wiser at all in dealing with loss,
in dealing creatively with disease and dying.
I’ve dealt with them somewhat, unborn still.
Yet I’ll be cradling her in my arms soon,
one still confused, with limited skill,
one with his demons and cocoon.
She’ll be educated, she’ll – I hope –
immerse herself in knowledge
widening her intellectual scope,
find a caring lover, make it on her own.
Yet the thought of freedom snowcaps my thought:
I want her, I need her to be free
as my mind and heart still are not…

Yacov Mitchenko
https://yacovmitchenko999.wordpress.com