Wednesday, November 08, 2006



J.B. Rowell

Your air is fluid—
grows you into being.

Push off the wall—
it finds you—pushes
back from behind.

Turn around—
shake your fists
at the dark–
beyond thin lids.

There is nothing to fight.

I'm with you—holding
a ladle to your lips.

Drink deep—water
fermented by moon

You won't need
me anymore—gorge
on life—it's here.


Blogger Pat Paulk said...

He'll never stop needing you. Just different air, different food. Love the poem!!

7:26 AM, November 08, 2006  
Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

That's true Pat - thanks!

6:14 PM, November 08, 2006  
Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

Looking at the ultrasound 3-D photo up close again, I realize my son has biceps - he is a fighter! :)

6:15 PM, November 08, 2006  
Blogger luc u! said...

cool poem & your son is hot!

no, not hot, rather "warm"

i had successful sperm on aug 8th. not sure yet if our child will be a boy or girl.

regardless, it's cool!


miss you on myspace. :(

4:08 PM, November 10, 2006  
Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

Hi Luke - congrats on becoming a dad! Are you going to find out before he/she is born? We were suprised with the first, which was fun, but a long wait . . .

6:00 PM, November 10, 2006  

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