ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

Like the image 

not yet risen 

from a darkroom 

developing tray, 

he came to me 

as the whisper

of a wave,

as the faintest 

of feelings. Gradually

he floated 

to the surface

of my being, 

of my body,

as a presence, 

as a spirit 

wanting to exit 

the liminal liquid. 

He wanted 

to enter the world 

as breath, as tears,

as the sound 

of deep sobbing.

And so 

he did.

My dead father

came through me today.

I gave birth to him

through my

morning practice.

I grieved him.

I remembered him.

I wished 

I could 

hold him 

in my arms

like a new born.

I wished 

I could 

rock and cradle him

in the deep well

of the love 

and gratitude

I now have

for all he gave me

that I could not fathom 

I was given

until recently, because 

I had been the “babe” 

for too long

and had been too busy 

with my own 

arrested development, 

too busy trying

to fill in the blanks.