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Thinking About A Son, Traveling

A single Guinness stands mute in
The fridge, proxy for his footfalls,
his hard way of walking, his hard
walk shaking the radiators.

He’s in Moscow by now, and then
Prague for some weeks, learning some
lessons, and then off to parts unknown.

I thought of the Szymborska lines,

May our child grow and be well.
Let him be happy from time to time
and leap over abysses.
Let his heart have strength to endure
and his mind be awake and reach far.

But not so far that it sees into the future.
Spare him
that one gift,
O heavenly powers

But I would like to see ahead, see
what comes for him, and know
when he will come back for that Guinness,
and shake my house again.

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