Progeny

Watching one’s own child,

is like reading a different version of a story you once knew.

The circumstances had been different.

It is like dreaming,

something that feels nostalgic even as it occurs,

disorienting.

Like introducing yourself to a pretty lady

and they tell you that you have already met.

Or eating a bowl of bingsu on a hot summer day.

I am a dog that has been gifted

with a sudden appreciation for music.

I am in love with everyone in the room.

As I sit, I am aware of every change in posture,

every thoughtful provocation,

the way the breathing changes of the man sitting behind me.

The woman to my right seems to have moments of joyful revelation.

I am peering at the diagrams

and I see the illustrations of the universe,

the firing of synapses,

an alphabet of the occult,

a timeline of the Russian revolution,

seismograph readings from Mars,

the landscapes of the mind.

Listen there is the caress of a soft animal,

two river stones being hit together,

the wind blowing across the taut wires of a suspension bridge.

When all is done,

I want to hug everyone,

but I restrain myself and hug only my son.

This day, was a good day.

Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog