They come crashing through the door
Either unaware or uncaring
Of the fact we may be sharing intimacies
We must steal otherwise, and only at night

Of course we indulge them
They are, after all, the children
We say we crave, and though they belong
To others, we tend to see in them
The reflections of the light
We most want in our children’s eyes

We hide our envy well
Not telling Sam or Doris that their cherubs
Are those we idolize and that their
Photographs rest on bureaus
Where we make love
With the thought of molding clones

Oh if only you knew the heartache
They often cause, says Doris
And you just smile and tell me later
That you know the ache so very well

Aunt and Uncle we are called
And often enough visited
By our adopted niece and nephews
That we plot to bolt the doors
With the hope that one day
We can create such
Gods and goddesses of our own

And what do they say?
There’s the fun in trying
But each time you shake your
Head and point to the barren test
With its unturned shade of white
We wonder why we put so much
Into the effort.

I shudder sometimes to think
Of the nights when we roll
From each other’s embrace
And sleep facing different walls
Wondering whose fault it is
That the crib is still unbought
And the other room is still a den
And other people’s children
Have to visit just so
We can fill the house with noise.

08/05/2011

Author's Note: To a young couple up the block, who don't me from Adam, but whose efforts to have and love children are legendary. A hopeful imagining.

Posted on 08/05/2011
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch