Hand raised,
palm forward —
you call us to be blessed.

Eyes knowing,
from the other world —
you see within.

Gold rim of the lampshade
crowning your tussled hair —
your soft presence draws us near.

Blackberry jam
smeared across your lips
(and cheeks) —
all angels beseech you.

Perfect being
with sticky fingers —
bless us.


Today we are packing up to bring our youngest son, John, to college tomorrow.  Although this is truly his time, I cannot escape the impact on us. This picture was taken when John was two and enjoying a good, messy breakfast — and unexpectedly looking kinda like baby Jesus (maybe it’s a Catholic thing). The poem was the first posted when I started a few months ago.  It seems like the most fitting way to mark this very exciting passage is to repost this picture and poem, and then, well, just jump into the breach!