“Busy Hands, Busy Feet” (Confucius Poem #3)

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” Confucius

‘I’m too old for this.’
The lament escapes
my cracked lips.
Even as a whisper,
the words represent
my resignation to life.
The child at my knees
represents my transcendence
of sleep, eyeliner,
and fear.

I might be be too old
for ‘this’, but
I don’t fear it.
Fear is for those
privileged with time;
time free to spend
afraid of
what might happen,
the lessons to teach,
the patience to learn,
the language barriers
(for a few years),
the age gap
(forever),
the lose of youth
(mine and theirs),
the choice to laugh
or cry at the
wrinkles.

An hour
is a lifetime
with this flesh and blood
energizer bunny.
But I find myself
bathing and holding and tucking
long before I’m ready—
sleep coaxing with its
devilish grin
and promise of
sweet dreams.

Tomorrow we’ll laugh
and at some point
you will cry.
And, well, so will I.
For now, however,
I’ll let Michael Card
slow us down.

Title quoted from Michael Card’s song, “Busy Hands, Busy Feet” (Come to the Cradle).

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