Or the mountain should crumble to the sea.
Ben E. King
Raising children, holding them, and teaching them. 9 poems live in this room.
Every poem gathered beneath this lyric.
No. 111
On the steps outside of music class
On the steps outside of music class You taught me how to jump through time. The wrought-iron handrails,
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No. 113
Lightning Bug
I wish I could cup your tiny hands Around the shape of the lightning bug And hold that lonely glow—
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No. 5
In your arms
One day, when you're six years old you may watch your Dad leave, and have just the
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No. 14
Comes from love
I watched you with a 4-crayon pack, Filling letters with a careful hand, Each stroke a single color.
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No. 23
Your warm breath
There's something you will do, Before the clock sweeps past nine, That will make time stand on its head,
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No. 44
The times you were held
The times you were held in those rare, accidental pauses, in the early mornings before you
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No. 70
Use your instrument
You understood the sound of love as you were read a bedtime
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No. 77
I'll learn one day
To even think that I could teach you, When you already know so much. You'll know how much I'll need to hold you
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No. 83
As if you both knew
You can't grasp what you'd most wish. Tiny dust motes dancing and shimmering
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