Within the child

Within the child

Sometimes

When a baby

Turns its big, round eyes

On you

The bright liquidity

The intelligence

The curiosity

Haunting them

Somewhere behind the pupil

And the retina

Where the soul sits

Waiting to spear you

With a question

Once it discovers language.

I say ‘it’,

When it might not be fashionable

Or decorous

To refer to a baby as an ‘it’

But sometimes it is hard

To ascertain

Pink or blue is anathema.

It's not as if you can ask them

Preferred pronouns aside.

But in any event,

Sometimes,

When you look at them

It feels like they know you.

Deep down

Beneath the mask

The protective layers

You wear

To ward against evil,

Well,

The barbs of other people.

The heartbreakers,

Soul takers

Undertakers

We all wear the scars

Of naivety somewhere.

Sometimes

It is as if they are saying

“I see you.”

Frame that as you will

It can be scary,

Or

It can be liberating

For just a moment,

To be a child again

Touching the spark.

Blubber along

For the time it takes

To connect

Slobber a little

Find yourself anew

Don’t join in

With the venting of the bowels

Though

As other adults

Have little time for that.