I start with an apology: I’m sorry I didn’t write earlier I took a while because I was afraid that my words wouldn’t be good enough to capture these miracles I’ve seen. That is obvious now; they never will. (Some friends used to say in red lettered posters that ‘done is better than perfect’ and they were right) I write to tell you about the lessons I’ve taken on the subject of time. First, that the future does not exist, yet you’ll imagine many futures, like I do now, thinking of future you. Second, that there’s only now, all that happens is at the present moment, and you should be mindful of it - all else is waste. Third, that memories are but a shadow of the present, yet you’ll cherish some forever, because they’re all that’s left of a perfect past. Fourth, that human time is not made of seconds but rather of moments. In that sense you enlarged my existence a thousand fold. I collected some of our moments here While your memory isn’t ready and while mine hasn’t faded These will go one day too But for now we fight the fleetingness with beauty. I. Disarray and first bottle Dry lips in the morning Sore breasts which you wouldn’t take A nurse that didn’t know the urgency of life A cupboard impatiently opened Pots and pans on the floor A hastily opened box full of nutrition Your first bottle Relieved breaths II. Drive Never have I felt such clarity of purpose as when doing things for you. I drove to three cities because you needed me to and no traffic or rain could bother me Nothing would stop or distract me from my mission to provide. III. First Light I remember watching the very first light appear breaking one of our many sleepless nights turning the dark sky grey as the world turned, revealing itself I held you in my arms then, as I did many times before and after, and understood everything. IV. Warmth I miss the time when you perennially wanted to be held I’d walk around rooms everywhere, In this continent or another Sometimes I’d sing, or count in silence And you were always so warm V. Old new clothes One day you wouldn’t fit any single one of your clothes When did you grow? Were we not looking? Your mother and I packed everything, carefully, in a box And hugged each other as the tears flowed VI. Banana pure Your first solid meal was banana pure That must be quite common A baby eating their first pure But like many times since we met I couldn’t really tell you why I teared up It’s something about life Rushing in, thunderously VII. Past, present and future I opened a door And for a brief moment stepped out of time My father was carrying me I was carrying you You were carrying a baby May this cycle be repeated a thousand times. VIII. Remote control, red balloon You were always eager to explore We encouraged you, of course, But you struggled to do more Like that day when you got the remote control in one hand and a red balloon in the other and places to go I asked you ‘what now’ And off you went Walking by yourself