Born
I call your name out across the lawn
With cuffs rolled up over your calves,
Your feet mash the grass beneath round soles
I try to catch your back as you run
The sprinkler drops cool water on my neck
Neighbors watch me smiling, hands on heart
It startles me that you can giggle and dodge
You can pull your pockets inside out
And fly with them as wings at your sides
You can stumble under the arch of water
Folding quickly high above your head
And you can hear me calling to you — Truman Jack!
You can laugh with me when I say it again and again
I can see you — Water tumbles onto your head
I marvel, waking, cheeks wet with tears
Covering palms to face,
I cry that you have a name I can call across the lawn
I cry, for I have seen you, heard you,
Reached for you, almost touched you
I cry, for if you can run under the cascade, fists clenched
Eyes wide, shivering, sucking in your breath from the cold,
If you can do all of this
Then why can’t you be born?