Daddy
carries first-born Itamar
into the hospital,
he is two years old
and terribly spoiled
Momma is waiting for him,
sits delicately on the edge of the bed
Itamar melts into her lap,
her arms, her kisses,
her still-large tummy
He ignores the new baby purposefully,
the bassinet by the bed does not concern him,
grandparents’ presents are more colourful,
more interesting
Daddy picks Itamar up again,
maneuvers his attention to the bassinet,
where baby lies, complacent;
he has already discovered his thumb
Baby howls, Itamar startles
this is not a doll and not a dream,
not yet a threat, legs still folded,
remembering the womb
Baby is comforted on Momma’s shoulder
Itamar touches a tiny ear,
the thick black hair on brother’s head
peers at his eyes, half-closed
to the newly bright light
Returns to his games
sucks his pacifier a bit harder
it is a big responsibility
to be an older brother
tonight he has the house to himself
he will deal with this tomorrow
