THE LORD HATH GIVEN

In Memoriam: Nathan Lon Bowen

Nathan--the Lord hath given!
The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken,
But not forever.
Blessed be the name of the Lord
And blessed be our Nathan forever.

God hath given us comfort, a promise
That just as we laid you down to sleep,
So shall we have you again, forever!
Your newborn flesh, your gentle breath
Your perfect form ... forever!

Mom-mom shall take you in her arms,
Bundled, swathed in white, on a golden morning
Of many meetings, reunions, embraces--
The squinting sun peeking over the everlasting hills
The triumphant Son standing atop the mountains--

Then shall we know in full, "why?"
Then shall we see that he hath given us twofold,
That, in truth, we've recieved a hundredfold, forever.
Then shall we hold you
and have you again, forever.

A Dad's Joy

When the warm summer rain
of his son's second birthday remains
only in beads of silver
clinging to abandoned webs
on shrubs. And memories of months
gone forever now effervesce,
he takes solace in the first "I love you,"
on a mid-morning in March's marching-in,
voiced, "I you." And he knows
that the boy begotten in his own likeness
and image even at that tender age
comprehends love. And he knows
that the boy peers innocently up
with his mother's unforgettable eyes
of chestnut brown, still sheening
with the dew of heaven.
And he gives God thanks for every minute,
and every second spent
watching faltering first steps,
hearing first words blurbled
then articulated crisper and cleaner,
basking in the dayglow of first smiles,
a kiss on a whiskery cheek, a hug.
Laughing when he demands of Mom,
"Take him!" not knowing usage rules
or 1st person accusative pronouns.
He rejoices in every second
that have been no less plentiful
and heaven-sent
than those warm drops
that too have become memories.

*
To Zach Bowen, with all a dad's love

Felix Dies Natalis Tibi, Sacharia (July 10, 2009)

Fantastic photos of Zach shot by Scott Lunt (www.pixelshot.com)

Bite into a big blue forbidden birthday fruit plucked

from the Year-tree. Cannot believe it's been a whole year.

Dad says, "I remember the very instant you came,

watched you emerge into the world. Oh the rush of joy

that surged through me at that moment. Felt it all over my spirit.

I will never forget. The same joy I felt the day I married your mom.

Beside myself with joy."

Uh-oh! You've got that look in your eye! Here you come,
Michael Jordan tongue a-waggin'. Mom: "Gregariousness!
Strong-will! Fun-souled! He has made me lighten up!
I feel his love when tugs at my pant leg, reaches his arms up, laughs,
smiles, puts his head on my shoulder, picks his head back up,
smiles, puts his head back down . . ."

Dad: "You've got your Mom's brown eyes.
Brown-eyes don't usually pierce. Yours do.
As do hers. You've got an old soul,"
Mom: "He's got wisdom beyond his years . . .
looks like he's been here before,
the way he goes about things." He'll stare his way
into your innards until you interact!

A philosopher in the making?
Mom: "What goes on in that baby-brain of his, I'll never know!"
A pensive sifting of reality, I'd wager. Contemplation of a bird,
a dog, a never-before-met face.

Mom and Dad are always jealous on your behalf.
You were jealous for the first time.
You saw mom holding another baby and burst
into the realm of tears like a magician.
Your always sawing Dad in two. Always cuttin' him to the heart.

In addition to manifold friends, Grandma and Grandpa Bowen
were on the scene from UT. Despite the fact that you've only had one
thus far, how could this not have been the greatest birthday of all time?
Dad: "I've had 35 so far and this one was the best!"

The days go fast. They never come again.
Got to savor each moment like cool, clear drops
in a thirsty desert. Got to hold on to each moment tight
and hold on to the ones inside the moments even tighter!

How Can It Be?

How can it be a nickel short of a year already? The butterfly days
scatter themselves to the wind, knowing no hand can recover them.

Friday afternoon marked one year from the Thursday afternoon
that Suzy left work early for what was supposed to be
some supplementary maternity shopping, she'd hardly crossed
the threshold of Costco at Pentagon City Mall, when she knew . . .
knew that all our well-plotted plans were now fluid . . . Amniotic fluid.

Matt was just minutes away from the final Greek final
of his graduate career--Luke-Acts to be exact.
When Suzy got him on his cell after one failed attempt
he hit the July air like a bat out of the underworld oven,
careened down 16th street with all abandon,
shot onto 395 south, and down to the Pentagon City Mall
where he found soaked Suzy in front of Starbucks
being tended-to by a very good, very concerned Samaritaness.

The traffic statutes violated on the return pass through the District

we will pass over. How it could be that Suzy was at Holy Cross Hospital

in Silver Spring, MD where her M.D. works his miracles

just twenty minutes later, only the God of miracles can answer.

Zach did not arrive that day. Nor for the next seven. He was detained

by doctors who weighed the need to keep him wombed one more week
against the risk of in-utero infection. The amniotic fluid would replentish,

we were told, within his womb with a view . . .

And so, long sleepless hours began and lengthened into nights,

and visitors--nay, angels--arrived, bringing needed comfort

and encouragement to a barely-mobile Suzy, and a discombobulated Matt

Then, at length the Day arrived . . .

More on that in a day or five . . .

Anyhow, we hope you all can see and taste just a little

of how much this growing little miracle means

to two inexpert, but very grateful parents.

Bumping into President Obama at the Dairy Godmother

Suzy got these photos w/ her phone. The phone itself may have been slightly soused.

On any given day, fall out your front door

and you just never know who's path you'll cross

or who'll cross yours. The Bowens--Matt & Suzy & Zach

to be exact--took a rather fateful, but leisurely jaunt

not ten minutes up the street to the Dairy Godmother

arguably the quaintest little ice creamery on the globe

a family favorite even before we moved

to Del Rey from DC, which was just three weeks ago.

We were going to meet friends

Brian and Andrea, and sons Will and Henry.

But as we drew nigh to said Dairy Godmother,

we were suddenly aware of a Presidential Motorcade--

not uncommon in downtown DC, but a bit rarer

in Alexandria-- cordoning off our very destination.

More on that in a moment . . .

Suzy snagged this one too

Bumping into the President isn't like

bumping into other people.

It takes longer.

But to make a long story laconic, we made it inside

while the President, Sasha, and Malia

were still therein.

Fortunately our friend Andrea got this one. Her camera-phone was sober.

Imagine: the Leader of the Free World

the most powerful political figure on planet earth

in the same little ice cream parlor as us

in our little neighborhood, just feet away

from our little family.

As President Obama was leaving the establishment

he passed by Matt and Zach--

Zach happened to be perched on daddy's shoulders--

and the President stopped for a brief moment

face-to-faces, not one foot away from totem Matt-Zach

to say 'hi" to Zach,

Zach and Matt smiled back.

Dad was almost too shellshocked to say "hi" back.

Mom was too stunned to get out of line

to take another picture.

And with that he was gone.

*
The Secret Soyvice is no joke (as you can see above)

They were on the roof of the Dairy Godmother

and elsewhere, ubiquitous and vigilant.

We were soyched and soyched and soyced sum moore . . .

One of the Secret Soyvice guys asked Suzy

if there were any dirty diapers in the diaper bag,

AFTER he had stuck his hand inside.

He was lucky. And so were we! :)

Sun-Eater

photo courtesy of Scott and Robin Lunt

On the cusp of June and forever
I gasp and pant
in this heat, the high summer
of my life arriving so soon;
still a crisp plant
still in bloom
just so thirsty, ah so thirsty
and so thirty-something,
just so missing something now
and yesterday, what is it?

I peer from my garden
into flourishing streets, ready
to breakfast on the morning sun
and all goodwill,
but only now does it dawn on me
who the good earth is
to whom my roots cling fast
and ever draw their water.

*
From Matt to Suzy

Shadowplay

Sun slants half madly into the room
which means night has gone up
like a show-curtain
and the day is summoning its actors.

After six extra weeks of winter
and a couple of more of pseudo-spring
a certain nine-and-a half-month old
sees his shadow
which means June will arrive any minute.
Solstice and high summer
will flare like the breath of the dogstar,
enveloping everything in warmth.

His scene has started. He finds himself
in medias res. Like a Re
or a Pharaoh, this one knows his role.
Like a priest, this one knows his lines.
Like a bee, this one knows his business.
Like a fire, this one knows the drill.
Like a shadowboxer he presses a soft fist
to the brow of his opponent.

Dramatis personae: I and I.
The hands of his double are cool
to the touch. Either he
or his silouette begins a soliloquy
in a language he can no longer articulate.

A language spoken in that elusive world
whence he came not long ago.

The Wastelands

Crawling through vast deserts of carpet

with a diaper bag in tow
in search of what, pray tell?

Crawling through vast deserts of carpet.

Hark! The stork cometh

bearing a bear

wearing a fedora

and friendship on his wing

Crawling through vast carpeted deserts.
Stop for a meal
at a mirage restaurant
famous for their airy eats,
still towing a load.

Treading that same wasteland path
tomorrow and again.

Hobbies @ 8 mo.

Optometry: Beauty is in they eye of the beholder, after all,
whether you're a cyclops, a cyclone,
or a potato:

Sitting up: the minimal requirement

for ascending the throne,
although crawling around on one's footstool

commando-style

and traveling carpet deserts like a sidewinder

is still legit . . . and lotsa fun,

the Pharaoh even says so! Or would if he could.

Bouncing: not at the doorways of bars,

not from job to job like a loafer

or a bad lounge-act,
not like a football on atrocious astro-turf

or like a player, from woman to woman,

or a particle.

but out of pure joy . . . bouncy, bouncy, bouncy . . .

Curling up in the corner with the household turtle:
The party's over
and all of the excitement has decayed
like a radioactive sugar isotope
and fizzled into dream foam
to be used and reused by by the stagehands
that manage baby dreams
in the littlest theaters:



Terpy is with me.
I am swathed in a blankey!

Ah to rest, at long last!

Early-Life Crisis?

No small decisions for me, even at 4 months:
Do I wanna rock out to AC/DC ... er ... I mean AB/CD
or play with Terrapin Turtle (aka Terpy the Turtle)?

In my economy,
blankets are still comestibles.
I've learned to elude
nap-enforcement
the way some people charm
bill collectors:
I beam the parentals a pulsating
supernova smile
and they are putty
in my recently-sucked hands.

Nope. No small decisions at 4 months,
AB/CD or Terpy?



Guess we know who won the day?

Zach and Lennox

2nd cuzzins, born two months apart

already tight as spirals, just like their moms

who grew up together at Granny's house

swimming summers away outback

eating peaches and taco bell

cruising Santa Cruz, dreaming

on her beaches, admiring surfers

and surf, cakewalking the boardwalk,

sometimes more than eyeing ice-creams,

missing the gentle breezes and people

the rest of the year.

One afternoon, it fell to Matt to hold down the fort
whilst Suz and Steph were down in Filene's basement
and the two wiggle-worms took turns testing
his infant acumen, a brief baptism of baby flame . . .

Success!

All Smiles

Oh that every smile

could be captured like a butterfly,

pinned forever on the memory . . .

or engraved on the bronze

of the sky, emblazoning the dawn

with the image of God

happily countenancing

limitless possibilities

of an eternal Day.

Serenity Now!

With hurricane suddenness
and force
smiles and coos
fade altogether
giving way
to the five distinct cries
in my arsenal:

hungry cry,
dirty-diaper cry,
lonely cry,
fake cry,
and serenity-now cry:

a.k.a. the Not-tomorrow,
not-after-breakfast
NOW!-cry

Why can’t you parentals
figure out what I want?!

Okay, I’ve said my piece . . .
time for Zach to zonk.
In minutes,
I’m happier than a clam
in shallow waters
at sunset.

happier than the sunset himself
now that you mention it.

A Mom's Joy

Only she
can know this joy:
watching him grow
inch by ounce

his honey-vanilla
milky smell
his mannerisms
that seem almost expert

his grunts,
his groans,
his dovish coos
as he stretches himself
into the day
and smacks his lips,

the gentle splaying
of his fingers
fists of baby stress
clenched next to his temples

chipmunk cheeks,
gummy grins and grimaces
silent stares
and full-blown smiles
of recognition

little evening walks with him,
seeing her reflection—
and dad’s—
in his face, personality,
and soul.

Of Bottles and Binkies

Hard to tell the real suckers
from the sucked
Parents, pacifiers, or nippled bottles.

Zach’s most pressing philosophical question
these days: “What love I more?
Parent or binky or bah-bah?”

From zero to a hundred
in under three seconds
if he doesn’t get the bah-bah.

Dad’s hand has to stay on top
of the binky (a.k.a dragon appeaser)
to keep it in mouth.
It’s like keeping a lid on a basket,
or a hot coal on the lips of a prophet.

He had us trained.
At 4 a.m. we would rise like corpses
to the crescendoing grunts and squalls
climbing to climactic “wahhhh!”

Now he’s trained.
Been sleeping six hours straight.
Food coma comes on at 11 p.m.
Cooing at 5 a.m.

Zach

He was due today,
he arrived six weeks ago.
He started out at a little over 5 lbs.
He's almost 10 lbs. now.
Mom would have been passing
a veritable bowling-ball.
Dad watches him grow
and sometimes gets a vacant look
on his face, standing around
scratching his head, wondering
where time is flying off to.
He enjoys the noise
and ambient traffic of the city
Every time we take him
outside the lair
he just zonks.
Must be the fresh city air.

When we bring him back
into the lair
He drifts through the realms
of baby sleep
dreaming of mother's milk
and formulae
with contented smiles
drifting over his face
like tiny clouds
in an endlessly blue sky.