The Hammock

When I lay my head in my mother’s lap
I think how day hides the stars,
the way I lay hidden once, waiting
inside my mother’s laughter. And I remember
how she carried me on her back
between home and the kindergarten,
once each morning and once each afternoon.
I don’t know what my mother’s thinking.

When my son lays his head in my lap, I worry
His lips, swollen with his father’s kisses,
won’t keep his father’s worries from becoming
his. I think, Dear God, and remember
there are stars we haven’t heard from yet
they have so far to arrive. Amen,
I think, and I feel almost comforted.
I’ve no idea what my child is thinking.