A Poem I think of from time to time

June 4, 2007 by
Filed under: Uncategorized 

My son, my executioner
Donald Hall

My son, my executioner
I take you in my arms
Quiet and small and just astir
and whom my body warms

Sweet death, small son,
our instrument of immortality,
your cries and hunger document
our bodily decay.

We twenty two and twenty five,
who seemed to live forever,
observe enduring life in you
and start to die together.

That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.

Update: Ha! a friend of mine asks “Uh, everything OK?” When I think it’s because I haven’t had my IM client on in several days, he says “No I mean the about death poem on your daddyfu blog.”

So I sent him this snippet that I sent to a pal of mine earlier today, when we had a short discussion on mortality:

I’ll tell you, as bad as it is hearing about someone younger than you kicking it, having a kid sure puts a fine point on one’s mortality. Don’t bring up that to an e-mail list full of stay at home dads. They all think you’re dying or something. Like living isn’t terminal.

He chided me: “Living’s terminal, but when you have a blog about your kid and you post a death poem… dude… that’s not nice to other people that read it and have… empathy. 😛 Especially when you haven’t been on ICQ for like a week. 😛


Tell me what you're thinking...
and oh, if you want a pic to show with your comment, go get a gravatar!