The Adoration

After both of my sons' births, Eugenia, the matriarch of Mikhail's mom's family, known to everyone as Granny, has sent me this poem.

Eugenia and Emry

The Adoration

-Adrie Kusserow

It's morning.

I pull you from the crib

all warm and yeasty,

your hair stuck up like two soft horns,

you beaming brighter than a headlight

in anticipation of the nip.

Silly boy,

tender pink niblet,

luscious little beast,

water nut, love blossom,

Panis bulbosa, lactata nippiana.

And so begin

the verbal fevers

of my love-smitten Tourette's,

speaking in tongues

wild with metaphor,

swinging from branch to branch of simile,

rooting about for words

to match your roundness, your just succulency,

your sheer plump thigh-liness.

All morning I groom you with tiny love-names.

I am a cat, you are my kitten, cowlicked

with locution. I am a sound nymph

tickling you with alliteration, a Swedish masseuse

rubbing you with vowels.

Who would have known my love

would rise up so fiercely, hover

delirious in small bits of sound,

all day the adjectives landing and relanding,

determined to match your infinite perfection,

my sweet boy, my sweet boy.

***

Thanks, Granny.