Thursday, May 23, 2013


Little reflections of all the good that came before you
flitter across your newly-minted self.
You are a pinkened version of your grandfather,
and father, and me.
I can see, in you, the piano-player fingers
of my youngest brother, the wide eyes
of my cousin Ruth.
I see my mother in the strong set to your shoulders.

Seeing you now, with not even a day behind you,
I have no trouble believing you might become a God.

Emily Harris Adams considers herself a long-expecting mother: 3 years so far. Sometimes, instead of writing what she knows, Emily writes what she dreams. Some of her other poems include "Empty Linen," "Second Coming," and "Another Testament."

Join us for a discussion of "Birthright" here


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