Tiny Fingers — for Joss

Jocelyn cheering during 2013.

I wrote this poem eight years ago, next week, a week after my niece Jocelyn was born. It was published in the Artsbridge/River Poets 2007 Anthology, The Eclectic Muse in 2007. Its style is markedly different from my current style, but I post it today because it is Jocelyn’s 8th birthday. Happy birthday, Joss.
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TINY FINGERS

for Jocelyn, seven days old

Tiny fingers

like the smallest twigs

tossed off trees

in a storm, scattered

across the yard,

fragile, like the last

warm day of fall

or news pages

dried and yellowed,

flitting in the breeze,

or a moment of quiet

in Khartoum, in Baghdad

or on the back streets

of this coughing

industrial city.

I can feel you

twitch and turn

in my arms

against the rhythms

of your new breath

under fluorescent lights,

against the hum

of air conditioning and

pinch of feeding tubes,

in your room with a view

of the city and the river,

as our voices, set

like sax solos above

the clinical din

of machines.

What could you

be thinking, dreaming,

seven days old,

nurses on strike

outside your window,

as you raise your hand,

cover your face,

try to pull

the tape off

that holds your

feeding tube

in place?

What could you

be thinking,

fragile fall day

the sun out,

your parents

waiting to take you

home.

Send me an e-mail.

Author: hankkalet

Hank Kalet is a poet and freelance journalist. He is the economic needs reporter for NJ Spotlight, teaches journalism at Rutgers University and writing at Middlesex County College and Brookdale Community College. He writes a semi-monthly column for the Progressive Populist. He is a lifelong fan of the New York Mets and New York Knicks, drinks too much coffee and attends as many Bruce Springsteen concerts as his meager finances will allow. He lives in South Brunswick with his wife Annie. View all posts by hankkalet