To Shimon or Simone

my heart cries out, but you cannot hear it,
to know the pains your mom and i bore,
the silent wars,
the dreams we adored,
and the rivers ahead we are going to ford,
like a salmon's uphill run,
blissful be the transmigration,
swimming out to freedom's ocean, us three.

i hope you will like your name,
it belonged to your great grandfather;
your mother knows how much i loved him.
there is not a more special name,
even if it is your middle initial.
i fell in love with your mom the day he died.
she loved me, and wiped my eyes,
three years hence, 
you will have arrived.

certainly, you will discover yourself,
your mother and i can only point to maps;
the road to Lao-Tze, Moses, the stars...
kinds of faces you will not find in any old places,
ones you cannot buy,
blueprints you hold inside your heart,
routes that began in our minds,
that lead your own road onward,
when you have gotten the language,
you will know.

be happy, sweet baby to be.
cry if you dare, laugh and learn. 
accept your freedom.
be cool,
or burn with memory
of what you alone may feel and see,
make it real, see it through,
because G-d will give you days,
as with us, you on the way.

have peace and happiness in your life,
make it so yourself if the land is right.
create a rich surrounding,
or move if that land be bitterly blighted.
hold no stones in your heart,
throw no stones from glass houses,
make a strong and loving home,
let no weeds around you grow.

my heart cries out, Shimon or Simone,
though you are not yet here,
we bear such sweet pains of your growth.
to tell the truth,
our dreams are adorning our days with you,
although you will soil your diapers in the night,
messes to overcome and make right,
we welcome and go with you,
climb along the rocks with you,
so after you are on your own,
not alone. 

From "Poems for My Children"
July 31, 1982, Brooklyn
Revised August 16, 2016