No one will remember that this is the day
that my son and I stayed home
and he watched movies and I
met deadlines for work. It was the day
that I didn’t finish drying the apples,
the day I didn’t listen to a single song,
the day no snow fell in the yard.
It was, however, the anniversary
of Howard Carter opening Tutankhamun’s
tomb in Egypt, still virtually intact.
It’s still a few months from the day
he’ll discover the inner burial chamber—
for now, he is still ablaze with the thrill
of beginning, hopeful he’ll find
the sarcophagus. Does he know yet
that it will be made of solid gold?
The world is ripe with beginnings—
even in this season of dying and cold,
there’s always so much left to discover,
so much we do not yet know.
Eventually the movies are over and I finish
my article about Tuscan architecture
and my son and I again begin. No one will
ever remember how this is the day
we spent hours together at a table
with a puzzle fitting the thousand pieces in.
But I am still ablaze with beginning,
still in the thrill of his youth. I don’t yet know
where our lives will go, but I’m giddy
on laughter that only we two can hear,
the rest of the house quiet, no bells,
no shouts, no hum of the fruit as it dries.