© 2017 by Jack A. Urquhart
It seemed like nothing at the time
all those many years ago,
no more than an instant’s frustration
when I stooped to let you go—
just the fruit of a sleepless night,
the strain of overwrought paternity set loose.
It seemed all your fault back then,
the toddling source of cacophonous discord,
and that you deserved to take that spill.
No big deal to fall from knee-height,
and surely no harm done, I thought;
nary a bruise on your fat little bum.
Yet the moment you keened,
I knew it to be something more,
and that I’d failed again, again
the limitless tests of love,
and that the damage was done:
a first fracture in the bones of trust.