​Darlene Young​

My Son Asks for a Vocal Score of Hande'ls Messiah for Christmas

by Darlene Young (orig. published in Homespun and Angel Feathers, BCC Press)

 

After those rainboot years when you turned wide-eyed

anywhere I pointed came the years you shrank

from my hand, stared

out of car windows, refused

to let us take your picture.

 

All that time I was forgiving you,

mostly. All that time I was thinking of myself

at fourteen, my exasperated parents, and of the way people go

and come into themselves.

I knew my job: sit ringside,

resist expectation.

 

So now

your grins at anything I’ve pointed to

are like prizes in the Crackerjack,

a white-elephant gift that for once

holds the really good chocolate

instead of the itchy socks.

 

I invited you here, and so I play the hostess,

responsible for all you enjoy

and all you don’t. I apologize.

For smog. Sorry. Mosquitos.

Sorry for violence and poverty, the flu,

awkward moments.

Modern politics. Sorry,

 

so very. But:  

lilacs!

Sage in a balmy desert dusk!

And yes,

the thrill of nailing that intricate musical line

that crochets and crescendos,

culminates in a perfect Hallelujah!

And someday, maybe, a chance

to share it with your own child—

this breathless, spangled ride.