Children

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> Weekly, my friends and family have come to visit the
> baby . Everyone wants to see the miracle of a child.
> Something that wasn't here yesterday and is here now. He's
> living/ breathing with the hope and dreams of the world.
> I spend much of my time just watching the baby and
> dreaming of a better world for him. I've notice that just
> before he wakes up a sweet scent comes from him. It's not
> from his clothes or the crib or toys but from him. I
> imagine it's his soul with his guardian angel coming back
> from where he first came. Yet, as each day goes by, I can
> see the baby forgetting that special place. I see him
> trying to remember that other home but life is too
> interesting to continue the search right now. He sees
> things, hears stuff and feels my touch. He looks around
> the room and somehow settles that this place is different
> and strange but in a good way. Look at that light. What
> was that sound? I hear mommy's voice. I feel her touch. In
> a glance, I saw that yearning to go back to which he came
> disappear. A yearning which I still struggle with as I
> walk this earth. Gladly,he still sees his angels who laugh
> and play. Yet he seems to play with them a little less
> everyday.
> Those who have held him say he is solid. A heavy and
> solid baby. Yes, he is solid for he is more aware and
> awake. As days become weeks, baby feels his heaviness too.
> He moves and pushes his body yet he can't fly anymore.
> Just when he is about to cry from frustration, he see his
> fingers and finds them fascinating. And they feel and
> taste good too. Forgotten is his frustration/ his pain. As
> much as I want him to learn about his surroundings and
> play with me, I don't want him to detach himself so fast
> from the special place. But we are born to live.
> In the early morning light, when all is still, I dream
> that baby and I disappear and go back, just to visit- just
> to fly once again and be lifted. In this stillness, I can
> feel and see the cord that connects us. The cord that
> connect us all.
> THE END
> AWILDA APONTE

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