Posts Tagged ‘lullaby’

            inspired by “La Berceuse” by Vincent van Gogh and a song by the same name by Kayleen Asbo, with a line from Paul Gaugin
There is, inside all of us,
all of us, all of us,
a child who longs
to be rocked, and rocked,
a soul child who longs
for the old sense of cradling,
a soul infant, fragile,
so green, so new,
who knows only to trust
that someone, someone,
peaceful and still,
someone with patience
and infinite calm,
with a quiet face
and sober eyes
will sit beside us
in heavy-lidded moments
when we glide defenseless
on dim shores of dreams,
yes, someone, someone,
will watch us, will watch,
will keep watch and will usher us
slowly to sleep,
to sleep, though we fight it,
oh shhhh, shhhhh.
Can you feel it, the rocking,
the rocking, the rocking,
can you feel it, the rocking,
that never stops?
Oh bless the hand,
the patient hand, 
oh bless the hand
that rocks.

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Hush little baby, don’t say a word,

mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don’t fly,

mama’s gonna bake you a Brussel sprout pie,

and if that pie crust doesn’t brown,

mama’s gonna buy you a circus clown,

and if that clown has got a knife,

mama’s gonna make you purple kite,

and if that kite gets tangled in the tree,

mama’s gonna buy you a wooden knee,

and if that wooden knee won’t bend,

mama’s gonna find you a golden hen,

and if that golden hen won’t lay,

mama’s gonna buy you a bale of hay,

and if that bale of hay’s too damp,

mama’s gonna buy you a lava lamp,

and if that lava lamp don’t shine,

mama’s gonna draw you a dotted line,

and if that dotted line’s too straight,

mama’s gonna keep you up too late

and if her lullaby goes all wrong,

mama’s gonna sing you a different song.

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Illustration by Leanne Canty

Illustration by Leanne Canty

Your life began as a zygote, love,
a one-celled being that rapidly divides.
Though that is partially a lie.
There was a start before that—go ask your dad.
It’s so human to want to point to a time
and say, “Here. Here’s where it all began.”
Like the day we planted the zinnia seeds.
We used that date to predict their bloom.
And when the first summer squash blossomed yellow,
we knew there’d be zucchinis soon.
But there was a beginning before the seeds,
before the blossoms, before the dirt.
It’s impossible to say the true start of things.
Like which sign in the Zodiac comes first?
And where in the West begins the zephyr?
And at what stage do zinfandel grapes become wine?
We want so much to divide forever
into bite-sized chunks we can understand.
When did the zebra first have stripes?
And when did the zebra fish grow new fins?
The story always starts before it begins.
When did the zipper change the way we wear sweaters?
And when did we learn that zinc helps us see better?
And when did I first know that I loved you?
Back when you were a zygote. And before that, too.

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If I lay here, if I just lay here, will you lay with me and just forget the world.
—Snow Patrol

Like sipping the stars in water,
like hearing the sun in the stone
all the impossibles, all the fantastic
notions are possible now.

Like drinking gray sky in big gulps.
Like song spiraling out of bent wheat
there is improbable joy, my love,
in the imperfect, marred, defeated.

There are shoulds, my dear, and mustn’ts
there are cages we think are ourselves,
but night is here and soon there will be
nothing we can’t have.

But it’s not about the having
not even about the dream.
it’s about, well, darling, I don’t know.
Let’s close our eyes and see.

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