"Baby's Journal:"
by Martha Hackenberger

Mysterious my beginning, (I remember loving-faces, and then there were
none), then
Many children in one room,
   my first expression only the formulation of my need.
   my first life lessons: how to wait, in silence to be fed, to lay still
so as not to disturb the others in my crib.
Hollow light, unshaded bulb, the single source of brightness.
I loved the light, for with it came
 the lady who gave us bottles, though militantly hushed our cries...
even her I loved!

Countless hours, watch my toes, and fingers too!  I had them all
yesterday...
I have them all today
(I already checked a hundred times).  I even found my navel!

And then they came and got me,

from my crib, the bulb I loved, the room I knew, the militant hushing
lady;

Bundled me, we traveled,
for how long I couldn't tell,
but by the time we stopped I knew
I still had all my fingers
and toes (them I had to wiggle inside my soft sock-shoes to count!).

And *there*.  There they were with strange looks upon their faces.
Not a look I'd ever known.  At *me* they gazed intently,
stared into my soul and
made my toes curl under
(I'm glad I had them all).

To them I was handed over...

Instinct was to fear:  my lightbulb, my crib-mates, my bottle....
But this lady and man were holding me,
whispering to me
a hush so sweet and gentle...
Nevertheless,

I let out a wail, ear-piercing scream!

I heard them laugh and proudly exclaim
(the words I did not understand)
the smile, I did.

I'd heard of them, "Baba's and Mahmee's", but only as in fairy tales,
thought that they were myths.
And when I stopped crying, long enough to breathe, they introduced us
properly, and used those words.
But what would happen now?

You trundled me up to your room, and promptly laid me on your bed, and
there
you ceremoniously counted
all my fingers and my toes (I could have saved you the time....
I knew they all were there).
And then you proceeded to count them all over again, smiling as you did.
I think perhaps this will work out nicely afterall.
My heart was full,
my mouth stretched around
the words, and out they came:
"Baba",
"Mahmee".
Then, quite
unexpectedly,
I don't know who
cried harder!

Martha Hackenberger
For God's Grace
9/4/99
© Martha Hackenberger 1999

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Martha Hackenberger's Poetry

"Baby's Journal:"
"His Care"
"The Thought of You"