WAYLON HART ARRIVED in creamy vernix. Now he sleps and K plays in bed with Hoa. The rain comes light and then heavy, a day of steady drizzle. 3:52 p.m. he came, crying out before completing his womb exit. Now he's calm, quietly wrapped in a blanket. He pissed and soiled the sheets with rich black excrement, adjusting as he can to this suddenly new world. Friends came to watch Keaton. Others brought food. Drank a couple of beers. Washed dishes. Made tea. Tended Hoa and Hart. She delivered with full devout courage, to quote a friend, the babe coming quickly. A little pumpkin head with the face of a bruiser. There's music in the house and it's dark out. Played with K in his room a while, easing him through the stress of new life—the intrusive awakening coming to him. And even this lovely moment, even in the midst of this renewed hope, even now I can't help but know the black stone's great gripping gravitas. Its measure runs through, marking our green hope and great care. Sweep mud clods off the floor. Take K in the rain for ice cream hoping he'll fall asleep. The moon hides behind clouds. The sky moves in the lights it bends back down on our little family. Quiet now, K resting. Hoa sips tea, looks at me.
Posted by Dale at May 3, 2004 03:35 PMCongratulations to all of you!
Posted by: Michael Snider on May 4, 2004 11:47 PM