The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Bruce J. Berger

Letter from the Maternity Ward After the Birth of Cole Ronin

I sit here,

Your great-grandchild in my arms,

Your granddaughter asleep.

My grandson not an hour old.

He cries, a healthy sound of air

Rushing from his tiny lungs.

You’re gone, but

Here now too, to hear him.

The word kol in Hebrew means voice

And ronin suggests song.

Thus, my father, you will see

That this little man must sing.

He opens his eyes to look up at me,

Questioning.