October 22, 2015

In Utero: A Letter to my First Grandchild. {Poem}

Ivan Niznicki/Flickr

You swim an amazing sea,

floating in a world that nurtures and feeds.

Waves of sound meld with water

before crashing on your tiny eardrums

and light dims before dawning

on your unopened eyelids.

Most of us spend the rest of our days

longing to return to the sustaining

nature of the womb, where life beats

from your mother’s fierce heart.

The bliss you now know won’t be

sensed again, but a whole world

awaits in wild, potent wonder:

the taste of a summer peach,

leaves crunching underfoot in Fall,

the dynamic canvas of the sky,

more species than we can name,

more stars than we can see.

Life itself—and your set of senses—

is reason enough for reverence.

But take your time.

This deep bath, this salty soup you know

as home, the condition for life that

science can’t yet mimic, was custom-made

to cradle your aquatic phase.

Trust that generations wait to greet you

on land, to hold you as high as hope.


Relephant read:

A Letter to My Unborn Daughter

Author: Michael Graber

Volunteer Editor: Nicole Cameron/Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Ivan Niznicki/Flickr

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Michael Graber