I fell in love with a creative genius
His body throws new things like a fire throws heat
Every day something appears from nothing
Ideas, poems, prognostications, but mostly music.
I am grateful for him.
I sometimes follow him around
Hungering for the trifles he leaves
Bright trails in his wake.
He reminds me of my father
Who taught and loved and listened
Waltzed the world while being quietly remarkable
Lived and loved and gave and gave.
I am a wife of one and a mother of one, a son
Stepmother of two
But there was no creating on my part there
And thereís only so much credit I can take.
My son is also a wild creative
Throwing whimsy and art and stories and calculations
Like sparks from his lengthening fingers
Must get it from his dad.
No sparks fly from me, I leave no trails
I have my uses but theyíre mostly
Doing whatís needed, what Iím told.
Sometimes I dream that Iíll catch fire
Someday spin golden thread from straw
Surprise myself when I turn around
See something behind me where nothing was.
I try not to be jealous but itís hard
I live so close to so many miracles
Theyíre freely shared, itís not that I canít have them
But itís the wonder of making I ache for.
Itís the waking up one day in the company of angels
The sheer delight of unleashing a thing that never was
That was only a gleam in the eye at breakfast.
I try to overlook the drudgery
Necessary for our roof and socks and daily bread
Necessary to support the machinery from which
The magic is made.
I do what I can
Weep when theyíre not looking
And wonder at their gifts.