The Day Nolan was Born

I have a new grandson who is two months old now. Here's a poem I wrote the day he was born.




The Day Nolan was Born

The day Nolan was born,
there was 18-inches of snow on the ground,
it was 17-degrees on the car thermometer;
as we drove into the night,
the wind blew hard and wild off the lake.

The day Nolan was born,
we grandparents stayed at the hospital until 3 a.m.
then, leaving our children to labor on,
tottered home in the bitter cold,
taking baby steps across the icy pavement,
to rest a little until it was time.

The day Nolan was born,
the final call came at 7:37 a.m.
We rushed around the house getting ready,
scrambling for boots, coats, gloves;
we used a push broom to sweep snow off the car.

It was quiet in the hospital, that day Nolan was born,
not that it mattered, for he was all we could see.
A new generation delivered in a 7 lb., 11 oz. package
with strawberry-blond hair and dark eyes.

The day Nolan was born,
I sat in a rocking chair and met him for the first time.
He stared at me intently and yawned, not at all impressed.
He wrapped his tiny, tiny, tiny fingers
around one of mine and gripped it firmly.

Outside, the sky was a shaken snow globe.

Denise Kalin Tackett
Jan. 3, 2010