this tearless father

i did not weep
when you crowned
in the canal

i watched
the
violence to

your mother's
pink and
pliant flesh

and witnessed blood
and the pale
effusive waters

i gave love
to your mother
lying on her back

held her hand
and wiped her brow
and watched her shake

but i was not
one of those
fathers who wept

i saw majesty
in your birth;
an alien grandeur

the expulsion
of your flesh from
her flesh

made my soul
yaw and pitch;
tumble and vibrate

the intellect
penetrated the
physical

when you with your head
slid out of her
greased to the heels

i elated quietly
at the coming
of you

my mind and
my heart
together seized

a breathless
moment at your
first breathtaking

but i was not
one of the
fathers who wept

i used to wonder
in the first years
where i became broken

to not emote
to not exerience the
swell and release

that i hear
so many other
fathers have

did i not
witness a miracle
as big?

did i not love
you as much as they
did theirs?

do i not
have the same
heart and soul?

i've cried since
for you
that's for sure

at the moment
i learned you'd
been nearly killed

at the moment
i learned i
could not stop your crying

at the moment
i felt you thought
i didn't care

at the moment
you learned
i was fallible

at the moment
i was sure
you'd be taken

so forth
and so on
i weep now

a father
who felt
something

close to seeing
the beginning of
time

when you
were born
and blood covered

but did not
weep at
it for fear

i would miss
the moment of
you becoming you