Startled by Existence

3/90

My Dear little Kayla,

What deep joy

we find in a stalwart tap

as you,

our ballerina in the bag

poke about with fist and foot,

banging on the temple walls …

Lifting us to laughter as you reach

upward into elastic sky,

moving skin like a mole

churning earth

underneath.

Your mother would contend

that these are the antics of an Andrew,

and given that she has

both intuition and an internal seismograph,

I agree, paternalistically

to speak “Andrew” at her stomach

out loud.

But when the three of us go dancing

with the dish rag in hand,

I bet I hold two women in my arms,

and dream about the day

when feisty Kayla J.

leads a pack of younger brothers

through Yosemite.

Your first days of being

were an uncertain whim;

The rhythm that had marked

my young bride’s life with lunar frequency

was less predictable since marriage months before,

and we weren’t sure if the moon was late

or fallen from the sky.

Wonder led to double talk --

convoluted wantings,

with moments of “Oh Dear”

But when you turned our home kit pink,

we celebrated roundly

feeding you on egg rolls

intravenously.

(Kayla was born, in keeping with her father's foreknowledge in June 1990.  He did, however, goof on the brothers.)

Vertical Baby -- (a Lullaby with tune for the colicky kid.)

I am the vertical baby,

Don’t you ever lay me down.

On the ground is sore vexation,

Held upright is pure elation …

Oh, Daddy, Daddy if you please

bounce me on your horsey knees

I don’t ever want to sleep;

Stay with me all through the night

And lift me like a gentle kite.

NO -- I am not some asphalt

That I should be put down,

I am the Vertical Baby !

So rock me ever standing, or "tock" me

like a metronome.

Tyrannosaurus 2

That mouth

Would gulf the city if it could ..

Indeed,

Nothing is too sacred or too saline

For that tongue

Including

A rock, a sock,

A block, a cigarette butt,

Or little fingers --

wet with molten honey.

(Guest Artist appearance by Kayla Jordan - then 10)

It all started on June 10^th 1990. A little girl had been born that day. Two parents stood over her smiling happily. This was their first child. They named her Kayla. How do I know: Because I was that little girl. Slowly but surely I became a toddler. The world became more exciting and new. I could go more places and see way more. Just the same I missed the old world I had been in. It was a place I couldn’t mess up. I was always happy. Now I never could have a chance to go back to that wonderful place, it was only like a happy dream.

Life continued on. Several things happened. First of all, a new person was coming into the family. I knew something was going to happen because my parents acted weird. They talked to me about a strange person I had never seen. They said she would be someone very important to me. I thought they were reading the future. Later I did see a very strange person. I liked the person. The object or animal made weird noises and my parents seemed to treasure this creature more than me. My second world zoomed away as quickly as my first. Soon I developed a love for my sister. I understood her more and she was getting to be an exolent playmate. I remember one time when we climbed though our cupboard. We clanged lids together and pretended we were playing instruments. Even though I had such fun here my happiness would soon end. We moved to a strange place called Fort Smith, Arkansas. I would start something I never imagine then. I was going to start school

My world changed once again. Before school ever started now I had a new sister named Anna. This time I was not confused at all by her birth. I knew she was a human. When I saw her I knew only joy, peace, happiness, and love….

(11/23/01)

Nowhere in all the land were there found women as beautiful as Job’s daughters, until … (Job 42:15 plus.)

I am the son of Titan women,

Born of water and of blood;

Born of Heaven’s will

and of the burning sod.

 

I am born of Terra

and of Sarah too,

A son of Adam, and

our “Father” Abraham, included

in the loins of faith.

 

I am the son

of strong STRONG women

and the sire of the same,

I have tasted fire,

and added to the flame

of life.

 

Trace me back

and you will find

Irish maids and Cornish lords,

scallywags and dumblewits,

pagans, saints, and tumbled hordes

mighty pillars, bloody swords,

and …a fire that burns back

to Eve.

 

 

And now …what’s this?

Would I throw my little spears

until I hit (as if by chance) some distant planet

on the run?

 

I read some guy who says that we

are but the natural end of very

natural means:

The sexual love of our earthly parents.

 

But, if he means no more than this,

I kindly disagree-

God works his artistry

through media of matter

and the crave; He put this fire in our bones

and placed the beauty

of my wife

within my eyes.

 

The fact that it was physical

or that

our brains were blazing hot, would not delete

His plan in anyway.

 

Indeed, We would borrow from an

ancient code

lifted up like surging magma,

Ever breaking, splitting twisting

in this tree of man;

And we would join that

twist and play, mixing like epoxy -

information-laden parts until:

Three new Titan women stand, made of

half a Titan, made of half a man; and

the wisdom of the Master Artist.

 

And God steps back from his canvas pleased.

 

Kayla, My first born--

You came into this world with a perfect

pumpkin face. And I can see that first-face still,

stretched and welling underneath,

Staring lovely like the moon at me

with timeless eyes of moss.

 

Ireland was good to you.

You wear her hair and spunk.

But does is seem

that you were meant for different times?

 

I picture you

in France beneath the brush strokes of Monet,

the little redhead girl beside the gate with water can … but No,

even that’s too current.

 

You were made for castles and for knights, or for some

distant timeless time, kinder to small kids

who walk around in dreams,

and nurse

heat-dazed hornets back to health,

even as you pour compassion

on a worn-down mom and dad.

 

Indeed, we sometimes wonder where your mind is,

half-an-hours’ homework pressed into two hours!

 

but, when you place your pencil to the sketchpad

weave poetic line, or put your heart to ivory

I think we know where

your brain’s been…

Between the stars!

 

And now,

My beloved Ede:

Your name, colored in the essence

of three women:

Edith, mother of our Charles -- Granddad McGinn,

Edith, wife of Francis S., a hero in my life,

and Edith, a little Mennonite girl whom I remember

with fondness, as she laughed

in her long dress and bonnet.

 

It appears, there is only one thing

that may eclipse your very direct beauty

and blue eyes …

A mind that races quick

and dishes whit, even as you live with

nose buried in some five-pound book.

We call you the brain kid,

but I know an even bigger heart

that drinks in love

or spreads it like a mop.

 

(And now, you stand behind my shoulder reading

wondering, will you get your fair share? Did I say, more

or better things of you, or what can you

run off with, to rub in?)

 

You are our queen of  drama,

Quick with verbal sword, or quick to take the hit,

You cackle, laugh, or weep,

command, charge, or screech

with Shakespearean ease.

May I recommend a future as conductor?

or (as often joked), the President.

 

Or better yet (my dream)

Missionary for the cause

of Christ.

 

And now

 

I turn to Anna,

 

our banana (sorry)

our little muscle kid.

 

You know we sometimes say

that Kayla and the Ede, got the genes of me

in thicker distribution, But

Little one, my love… you got your Mom.

 

You are strong and tenacious, pretty and vivacious

stubborn, and alive and with

a tough sense of “funny” to boot.

 

You find humor in the black/white of language

and demand we mean what we say.

“Okay, One seconds up!”

 

Who taught you to tease, or to climb the rope with ease?

Charge the soccer goal with fearless speed.

 

Who taught you to be stubborn?

or endure

most every knock (or missing teeth)

without a tear.

 

My only fear for you is that you make

it to adulthood in one piece.

 

My only fear for “them”

(These men of tomorrow)

is that they survive their broken hearts.