Today is Beth’s birthday. As I recall, we were expecting her on Christmas Day and I was ready to drop all the music at all the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Masses I was directing at St Hubert at a phone call from Ruth. As it turned out Beth decided to wait a little longer before she entered into our world. Always a singer, I believe she emerged from Ruth’s womb singing a song. I was just to preoccupied at that moment to notice. Because Ruthie was experiencing gestational diabetes, Beth was our fourth and last child. As with all our children, she has and continues to be a great blessing to us and to those she serves at Hennepin County Medical Center.
What follows is a set of three poems I have written for Beth and a song I composed for her in 2016. The poems are from a second collection of poems I have written for my wife Ruth, entitled, “The Book of Ruth: Courting In The Minnesota River Valley Of Tears.” Happy birthday, my love!!!
THREE POEMS ON THE BIRTH OF BETH
- 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.
As the doctor is applying
sutures to you,
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!”
- TWO MOTHERS
Four children, a family of six,
our finances strained,
I swap a job two blocks away
for one twenty-five miles away,
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.
- 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 vocal 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 yours 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.
