Well, we made it ~ November ends today, as does NaBloPoMo. And I posted every single day: I am surprisingly pleased with myself. I thought it would be too much pressure, particularly if I wasn't feeling well. But having meme's bookmarked for such occasions was a big help. I don't know that I wrote anything spectacular during the month, but I did write. So, Yippee!
It's also Poetry Thursday, and today's treat is
by Mary Oliver
Now there's William. He comes pecking,
like a bird at my heart. His eyebrows
are like feathers of a wren. His
ears are little seashells.
I would keep him always in my mind's eye.
Soon enough he'll be tall, walking and
conversing; he'll have ideas and a
capricious will; the passions will
unfold in him, like greased wheels. And
he will leap forward upon them.
Who knows, maybe he'll be an athlete,
quick and luminous; or a musician, bent
like a long-legged pin over the piano's
open wing; or maybe he will stand day
after day over a draftsman's desk,
making something exquisite and useful -
a tower or a bridge.
Whatever he does, he'll want the world
to do it in. Maybe, who knows, he'll want
this very room which, only for convenience,
I realize, I've been calling mine.
I feel myself begin to wilt, like an old
flower, weak in the stem.
But he is irresistible! Whatever he wants of
mine - my room, my ideas, my glass of milk,
my socks and shirts, my place in line, my
portion, my world - he may have it.
Hmm... Isn't it lovely?
I first came across this poem when Youngest Nephew was very small - maybe 2 years old - and it felt so right to me. It expressed so much of what I feel for him, so perfectly.
He is irresistible: no matter how badly I am feeling - even in those years where I could do little more than roll over to one side on my bed, having him near me gave me comfort. Gave my joy and peace and a sense of belonging to this world. No matter how I "wilt" (and I am a CHAMPION wilter, as we all know), being with him, watching him grow and learn, and knowing I have a part in that has been a salvation to me.
And now there's little girl, Only Niece, da peanut. And, like the Grinch, I find that my heart wasn't really as big as it could have been, because, surely, it has grown tenfold to accommodate my love for her.
If either of them ever needed something from me, as the poem suggests, it wouldn't matter what it is: I would give it freely. My heart, my "place in line:" anything.
And Oldest Nephew is not exempt from this overwhelming love, either. Though he is further away, and I have not had such a hand in his day-to-day care, I still love him; there is still a place in my heart for him.
Oh, and do I wonder what will become of them: strong, shy, stubborn, sweet; loving, listening, loud, little people that they are. What will their passions be? What cause will they rally behind, what will own their hearts? There's so much they could choose for themselves, and I want them to have it all.
I often feel badly that I have not accomplished as much in my life as I would like: not having a family of my own, children of my own, is a spot so tender it aches. And yet, my love for these kids, my brother's children, my sister's son: I can't imagine loving someone more than I love them. These are my "little birds," just as much as any others: they peck away more and more each day.