Yielding Yawn

My babies are 15 and 11 now, and at times, I recall their babyhood years like something right behind, tapping me on my shoulder. I still sing to and with my children, but I love the warmth of remembering the way a mother’s song comforted them when they were so little. Tender moments singing lullabies to my children evoke two things: deep awareness of what it means to be a mom…and poetry. I have sung several songs to my daughter and my son over the years, and one favorite is, “Blackbird” by the Beatles. Another favorite is, “If I Had Words” mostly known from the movie, “Babe” but the original was written in the 70’s. Those are the two I sang the most to them. One night, after singing, “Blackbird” Nathan fell asleep, and I walked away from his bedroom with that ache in my heart, that love that is so indescribable. I began to cry, and knew I needed to write. It seems the only way, sometimes even better than photography can, to capture the memory. Tears flowed out of me much like the time I would watch him sleep, standing over his bed after our breastfeeding days had come to an end, and I would cry, and cry, and cry, grateful for the bond, and grieving the loss of that intimate time. Or, the time my daughter moved into her own bedroom, no longer sleeping in my room, and I told my husband, “I feel like she went away to college already!” Every time your child experiences something momentous, it’s like all of these events add on to each other, and weave themselves tighter around your heart. There’s a quote I heard once that says, “Having a child is like having your heart walk around outside your body.” It’s relative to all things painful and joyful. I couldn’t have said it any better myself. When the tears came that night, and I began writing about it, I realized that those rising depths of emotion come not only from the mother-child bond of sweet-evening, song-filled goodnights, but from the Great Lullaby Mother whose Song always sings in us, but was glimpsed fully and fleeting- that dear moment by the ache of my heart, the lump in my throat, and the tears of truth. Here’s the poem I wrote that night after “Blackbird” and my boy:

Yielding Yawn (Inspired by singing lullabies to my son, Nathan)

“Blackbird” sung maternal and slight

His head turns over with the moon

Cheek nestled into resting night

And his yawn accepts the tune

Eyelids cover the day’s adventure

Into dreams of boy-filled new

Resonant heaven in song’s measure

Lullaby Mother, and a twilight two

—

And just for fun:

Blackbird

If I Had Words