Max is already part of the world! / Poem: Welcome home Max Atticus Deming

Max Atticus Deming, three days old, spittin' image of his old man, who's 36. Will his eyes stay blue?

Big sister Grace in her favorite place: The Great Outdoors.

WELCOME HOME MAX ATTICUS DEMING

Born April 1, 2013

So this is who you are, my darling,

cossetted away in mommy’s belly

hiccupping

napping

gazing around with your

huge blue eyes

at the nothing

that soon would become

everything!

Big sister Grace and I

discussed animals with tails

monkeys, dogs, and cats like

Nudge, Blank, and Doober

your tail, my boy, disappeared after

six weeks,

one day you’ll know the meaning of

“Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny”

Without my even asking

your mother

transfers you into my

arms

Was I presentable?
nail polish chipping

hands chapped from winter frost

ghostly white hair covered

by henna’d red

but you, little boy, are perfect

head round as a peach

little pink legs tasty as

baby carrots

toes warmed by double socks

kissable fingers with tiny button nails

wrapped around my own

How we gathered round –

Daddy, Mom-mom, Grace and I

Time for your unveiling

disguised as a diaper change.

The ritual, prehistorically old,

before our exodus from Africa

that brought us to

Ireland, England, Hungary

and Glenside, Pennsylvania

we partake in the ritual of

your manhood

the proof of who you really are

I gasped within at my first view

of your Darwinian gear that

so mesmerize the world –

-The Pythian Apollo in the Vatican

-The David I saw in a museum in Florence

you, too, little man, are

possessed of that long pointed sword,

that cornstalk to populate the world,

with its bed of seedlings stashed below

Cheek to cheek

I kiss and bless you

my grandson

Sixty-seven years younger than I

“Bubby” you will call me

like Big Sister does

No greater thrill than when she asks,

“Bubby are you coming over today?”

It is good that Science

keeps bubbies and zaydas alive

well past their prime

Your back yard awaits you

Daffodils and pansies

Tall pines that sweep the sky

A bird bath that fills up

with violent March rains

all of them conspiring to

welcome you, baby Max,

into the eccentric madness

we call Life.