Poem For My Grandson (1)

The little cosmonaut is waiting patiently in position –
head down and ready to descend on a moment’s notice –
awaiting further instructions he practices breathing
without really breathing and wriggles and pokes
for exercise as the small and vital space allows.

Already his shape is sure and his modest heart
has been commanded to pump.
He even contrived to send us a photo,
or his people sent us a PR shot of him,
waving out from his aqueous capsule –
we squint and marvel at his already aliveness.

Is he eager to join us? Did he ask for this
assignment? To come to life at this moment
in the history of this blue-green speck of dust?
Maybe he is ready and eager. Maybe
he has no clue. Maybe he knows now
but will forget when the bright lights
invade his fulsome eyes and
the familiar roar of his mother’s blood
is exchanged for the excited babble of voices.

Little person in the dark – we are eager for you.
None of us know what we have agreed to,
but we are willing for your presence and promise
that, together, we’ll learn whatever we need to know
and that we’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We can hardly wait.