I wrote this poem for my first daughter when she was 6 months old. Now her baby is 10 months old. Time doesn’t just fly–it’s supersonic.

Crying baby,
I wish you could tell me
What's troubling you.
My heart is swollen, 
Aching, overflowing with
Love for you.
A reservoir after a
Fierce rainstorm.
Barely contained.
As your dad, it’s
My job to mold the world
Into a smooth path for you,
To get the boulders out of
Your way.
I know I can’t,
But I’ll try.

You’re screaming so much,
Your little eyebrows are red.
I suspect that someday 
You will learn that
Being a little hungry or
Tired aren't really worth
Fussing about.
Someday, when you
Have a crying baby
Of your own,
You won’t remember
This moment, but
Maybe you will think 
The same thing about 
Your child.

How strange
That thought seems
To me now—my
Crying baby
Becoming a parent.

But that day will come
Too soon, too quickly.
But let’s not dwell
On that now.
In this moment,
Let me
Cradle you in my arms,
Quietly hum Brahms to you,
And rock you gently,
Softly, slowly
To sleep.




For Katy

Copyright © 2023 by David K. Carpenter