it might have something to do with my literature degree,
but i tend to search for meaning
even when meaning doesn’t want to be found.
when i discovered my pregnancy with you,
i must have turned the volume up
on whatever sense i carry with me that
seeks out the moments in life that are alive and speaking.
this year, i’ve spent many moments thinking in poetry.
so, when you, my beautiful boy,
left my body in one grand exit,
and entered this world from a wheelchair,
caught by the hands of a black midwife named Vida,
i had a relatively simple time making meaning of your birth:
you, my beautiful boy, were born as a poem.
happy first birthday, ari.