I have wanted to compose a series of poems about my daughter, Beth. I present three poems here.
The first poem is an account of Beth’s birth. Because Ruthie’s pregnancies were largely without any problem, it was always the birth’s that were challenges. Beth’s birth followed in grand tradition with the rest of her siblings.
NOT QUITE AN AFTERTHOUGHT
Not quite an afterthought,
but like all her other siblings,
a surprise. Is it any wonder,
my beautiful Ruth, you
are pregnant again? So
wonderfully beguiling,
our fertility such that
undressing at the same time
in the same room, your chances
of pregnancy increase tenfold.
Together, a fourth time, we
make this familiar journey,
praying for an easy pregnancy,
a safe birth, and a healthy baby.
Expecting a Christmas Day birth,
some trepidation accompanies
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day
liturgies, the birth of Jesus taking
on a new level of anxiety.
The Christmas Holidays come
and go, till the eleventh of
January arrives, and with it
our lovely daughter.
The moment arrives, and
we take our familiar positions.
I watch our child be born,
the doctor exclaiming,
“Nurse, weigh this kid.
I almost dropped it!” Your
eyes silently command,
“Follow her.” In silence,
I follow the green gowned
nurse holding our child.
The doctor sutures up
the passage of our baby,
your eyes engage mine.
“What is it?” “A girl.”
“How much did she weigh?”
“Eleven pounds.” A pause,
comprehension settles in,
followed by, “That’s it!”
© 2019, The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
With the birth of Beth, our family grew to six members. My salary of $10,000 a year working at St Wenceslaus could not sustain our family. We were already living under the poverty level of a family of four. I began to work at St Hubert in Chanhassen making $18,000 a year, the difference was trading a round trip of four blocks a day to a round trip of 50 miles a day. I worked at St Hubert for 20 years. Ruthie, got relicensed and went back to work as a registered nurse, working full time night shifts, something she has continued to do up to October of last year. That way one of us were always at home with the children. This poem recounts this change that occurred with Beth’s birth, and three year old Meg, becoming, in essence, Beth’s surrogate mother.
TWO MOTHERS
Four children, a family of six,
our finances strained,
I swap two blocks
for twenty-five miles,
a compensation paid for
increase of salary. Survival,
our constant companion,
compels you to don your
nurse’s uniform and work
night shifts to keep food
on our table, a roof over
our heads, and doctor bills paid.
You sleep, when you can,
Between children’s naps
And school day schedules.
Our three year old, Meg,
wearing the mantle of surrogacy,
mothers our new born, Beth,
when your eyelids feel heavy,
teaching her the needed
child skills, potty training,
kitchen utensils, walking.
Under Meg’s tutelage, Beth
thrives and excels,
a sisterly bond still in
place today, though, not
often publicly acknowledged.
© 2019, The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
The third poem is about Beth, singing a solo at her senior high school concert. I wasn’t too sure what she was going to sing, till she came out on stage in a formal gown and sang Gershwin’s masterpiece, “Summertime.”
SUMMERTIME
The auditorium lights
dim, the hall encased
in shadow. A spotlight
draws our eyes to an
elegantly dressed girl,
standing in a long,
flowing, black gown.
The opening strains
of Gershwin’s “Summertime”
play and she begins to sing.
Her beautiful tones soar
drawing our souls
to the height of the auditorium
to gently float, descending
in graceful arcs, an aural
caress of our senses.
Darling daughter,
born with a song
in your heart.
Strains of “Mommy
Good Girl,” rendering
“Somewhere Out There”
in keys normally out
of reach for mere humans.
Your life has been an
opera, singing what most
normally say, a recitative
of your life. Early morning
duets with sister, Meg,
chasing your older brothers
to school, your combined
voices following them to classes.
Fearlessly independent,
not afraid to defend your
family with words and fist.
Your Aunt Mary’s tenacity,
a part of your DNA, always
persevering in spite of
obstacles known and unknown.
This night your reveal your
heart to me, your poor
father, my heart moved
and melting with each
sung word, remembering
when I held your infant body
close to my heart
and pledged my life
to your forever.
The closing strains of
Gershwin’s masterpiece sound.
A pause, the musical silence
Of a half note’s length,
then thundering applause
as I weep openly with joy.
© 2019, The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All right reserved.
