Aisling
A mewling babe
I breathe you in
I drink your scent
no boundary
yet between us
though the
formal chord
was cut.
Is it you crying
on this dewy
winter morn?
Or is it me?
It feels the same.
Our separation
not to come
until at
two years old
you start
to play a game
of swapping roles
instructing me
to be the girl.
Down I sit
on child sized
chair at child
sized table.
“Girl” you say
“Drink your tea.”
“Yes Mum.”
I acquiesce
and wonder at
that well
worn path
to an
existential I.
Our two
connected lives
a narrative
an arc
an analogue
of time.
© copyright Alison Hackett
The first reading of this poem was at Aisling and Stephen's wedding ceremony in City Hall on 21st December 2015 after first reading Your children are not your children by Khalil Gibran.
A mewling babe
I breathe you in
I drink your scent
no boundary
yet between us
though the
formal chord
was cut.
Is it you crying
on this dewy
winter morn?
Or is it me?
It feels the same.
Our separation
not to come
until at
two years old
you start
to play a game
of swapping roles
instructing me
to be the girl.
Down I sit
on child sized
chair at child
sized table.
“Girl” you say
“Drink your tea.”
“Yes Mum.”
I acquiesce
and wonder at
that well
worn path
to an
existential I.
Our two
connected lives
a narrative
an arc
an analogue
of time.
© copyright Alison Hackett
The first reading of this poem was at Aisling and Stephen's wedding ceremony in City Hall on 21st December 2015 after first reading Your children are not your children by Khalil Gibran.
Alison & Aisling, 21st Dec 2015
