redding/air

redding

from Alexis (upon birth)

you my world

of the matching shirt

of the redding skin

the chest

of the matching shirt

of the listening heart

the chest

i am the size of your lungs

of the listening heart

and the blinking wonder

i am the size of your lungs

breadth of your breathing

the blinking wonder

of what could exist

breadth of you       breathing

beyond your arms

but what could exist

past the redding skin

beyond your arms

you         my whole world

air

from Clyde (upon rebirth)

you my air

since lack of gravity

pressed the cavity into outerspace

you my lungs

since lack of pull

done     proved its proof

you my lungs

already were

you’ve proved your proof

mathematics of scale

you already were

calculus of compression

mathematics of scale

put you right over my heart

calculus of compression

give you all my best to keep

put you right over my heart

pressed to infinity

give you all my best to keep

you    my air

We breathe on behalf of so many. I am remembering this moment when I was about the size of my father’s lungs. What can these two beings, the young father and the wise infant teach me now about the breathing that I do now that he breathes no more? These poems are my attempt to bring that moment, photographed by my mother into language for moments like this when I need it. Redding is a verb and an adjective for the heat and urgency of emergence alive and radiant with becoming. Redding is the way our flesh becomes warning intimate limit forces us to learn lessons bigger than us, like what happens to air. How every body seems too small to fit a universe of love. And yet.

P.S. My every day writing practice shapes my days into vessels for generations of love. If you want support with your own daily creative practice, I’d love to be part of your journey. This is the Stardust and Salt Daily Creative Practice Intensive.