Poem for Hugo in His Second Year

and for Anh and Huan 

Grandson of pilot and of diver, you
are barely learning how to stand and walk,
and testing how to stretch away from arms
that anchor you. And you are learning how
to pick up things, as well as picking up,
as graciously and quickly as you can, 
the overwhelming signals every day
that fascinate, beguile and batter you.  
So many people talking all the time
and looking for your feedback—tiring!
But you’re doing great so far. Feel free to nap
wherever and whenever you want to—
there’ll be lots of time to stay awake
much later on (you’ll find out what I mean).

Godchild, the world has layers. You will learn
that there are ways of going up and down,
so many ways. Just running on the ground
you’ll find some unexpected challenges—
so many things that want to trip you up
and send you flying, dump you into puddles.
You’ll soon learn to make a game of it. 

Your pilot and your diver have so much
to teach you: such as how to stay aloft
when buffeted by winds you cannot see—
the way the world can turn and slip away
or disappear in clouds that hide the light
you think will always be there, guide you through
so you can home in on the ground again—
and: how to stay afloat through murky waves
when currents push and pull you every way—
a river or an ocean has the power
to take you where you may not want to go,
but you can learn to float by breathing in,
and kick through waves until you reach the shore.

In short, here’s what I really want to say:
through air and water, love will carry you. 

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