Yellow Room

I loved you yesterday,
when your name was
only a guess
to a positive pregnancy test.
you may have been unplanned
but never a mistake,
you were simply a future
conceived in high stakes.
So we wagered
and won
like a prized possession.
You were
a surprising confession
we couldn’t keep secret,
neither did we want to.
So I told the neighbors
to keep their sons indoors starting now,
just as a safety precaution
because I was sure you’d be born
with ‘drop dead gorgeous’ syndrome
passed on from the back pocket
of your mother’s genes
which slightly explains
why I still might be
dying to see you.

So we waited
for your grand entrance
into this world,
like loved ones do at airports.
We waited
to commence our lives with you,
like Olympians at the starting line,
muscles taut with tension
with adrenaline spiking;
if they were running for gold
we were gunning for platinum.
We were ready
to place you on pedestals
before you ever conceived
the notion of crawling.

But who knew
that you would never taste
of defeat
or success?
Who knew
that we shouldn’t have been waiting
at the gate for your arrival
but rather in the line
for lost baggage claims?
Who knew
that you would send our expectations,
our emotions,
our hopes
through a marathon,
a triathlon
there was never a chance
of you waiting
at the finish line.
Who knew
that when we wagered and won
the prize would be
a still, empty crib,
stocks of diapers
and babyshower bibs,
that could never pacify you,
or this moment
in your yellow room
because pink and blue
were far too generic
and you
were far too precious
for colors to define.

Even though you’ll never know,
I’d love you today
and for the ‘morrows
that are never promised
I’ll love you always.


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