My first son lies with one ear up
It is curved and small and close to his head.
No one will ever tease you about those, Son.
Son with a perfect ear.
He lies with his fist made, his baby-strong hand,
And it thrashes out
And hits his own surprised face.
Crying at the cruelty of the world, he never knows
His own fist in his own face.
But he can hear his crying
And crying from the next crib.
That’s our humanity, my small one.
We lash out in ignorance, striking what’s nearest.
It’s the curse, my baby.
The fist is the curse
While the blessing from God is
Hearing the cry,
From the next crib,
With your perfect ear.
- Nancy Kay, 1987