Kids

Your genes; an unseen set

of countless mannerisms, the friends

you’ll choose, the bow of your

mother’s lips, all you’ll become –

.

an accumulated ocean of poses

with which to hold yourself in sleep –

seasickness, a way with words,

reactions to a thief

.

who may or may not come

on the night you can’t drift off because

of the same sad dreams your father had –

.

all tightly wrapped in tiny fists

and held before the day your mouth will move,

and our music will pour forth and plenty.

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About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

3 responses to “Kids

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