To My Son, At 7½ Mos, From First Class
Today I must leave you for a city that, like you, will not sleep. I am burning our ancestors to get there. I am going to have the beef short ribs. I am going to buy a new hat. One day you will tell me, Dad, that hat looks silly. You will be too honest. Right now you are kicking your poor mother. She can feel you below her ribs. She forgives you in labored breaths. She forgives me that I cannot rest my hand on her womb and say, Calmate. Sheket. You know my voice through the thickness of muscle. Already you know my touch. I think you may be magic. Perhaps you are the Messiah. I leave you today...
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