amateur origami


my take on the tragedy of the titan cronos eating his children is that it's less of a lesson on how time devours whatever time produces, and is more about how one's intentions can be so misconstrued that the only version of that story that has survived is the one in which he does so out of fear
and not love
for my little boy has taught me just how difficult it can be to hold back from dislocating my own jaw in order to swallow his cuteness whole
when he's unhappy, his squeals and shrieks shatter my heart and scatter the shards but his smiles
and the sound of his little voice box engine starting
uhh-uhh-huhhhhhhhh
and the feeling of his little hands gripping me tight as our breaths squeeze his chest into mine
these melt and draw those scattered heart shards right back together again
each time reforming a little larger than before

we dance along together to his sheer delight, his joyous little jazz hands clench into vices holding on for dear life
every first moment that his curious eyes lock on to mine i am mise en abyme
absorbed by my reflection's reflection
in the mirror of his face i see my two greatest loves and our future stares back with a sublime wisdom that i cannot comprehend
stares straight through me with an intensity against which i cannot - and will not - defend
we have planted a tree of life with its fractal branches spiraling into infinities
heavily laden with the fruits of what-ifs and could-bes
and each tastes of dizzying, endless possibilities

but all of our fantasies of how we wish for him to be fall subject to the fact that we have as much control over the direction of his soul as of the earth's revolutions around our sun
that our influence over him will be primarily due to what we do and have done
and that each reflex, each utterance chooses paths and closes doors
even since long before his eyes were first able to perceive us

every moment of his life is an origami fold over hot coals
we're trying to construct a phoenix without ever actually having seen one

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