Among These Holy Things

Must you always try to find yourself
in your sleeping child's face?
Looking for features that resemble yours
as if his face were a secret forest,
where somewhere hidden is a vine-covered bridge
between the banks of discontent and happiness?

They say to move towards what scares you.

And apparently your eventual
disappearance scares you pretty good,
because you tend to look for yourself
in places that will outlive you.

Your own misery is pretty frightening.
You keep looking away from it
when you think you're looking at your son.

Hot tip: Reject! this idea that you are anywhere in him.
Stop using him to keep yourself alive,
and let him show you how far
away from yourself you can actually get,
maybe what's on the other side of that viney bridge,
but be warned: it ain't happiness.

Maybe probably stop lying to yourself
about how your masterful gratituding will
propel you into happiness
stop convincing the scared parts of yourself
that the other parts are
worrying over nothing.

Maybe probably stop trying to prove to yourself
how damn happy you are.

That being said, do give thanks, while he's asleep in bed, safe for the day, give thanks for the walls and roof of your home, the planks, joists and wires, the hvac system that warms you all, the insurance, the clothes and blankets, the food he ate for dinner -- and pray that he takes every single thing for granted, and leaves the gratitude journaling for you.

How would that feel?
To know he doesn't care?

Would it wash up your spine in a shudder,
like a breeze in the woods,
in a place where you're
scarcely seeking anything,
in the dappled greens and untrod paths?

That uncaring is your son's forest, after all.
Walk among forts and moats he's built,
among monsters and dilemmas, heroes, homes and more.

Whatever he chooses, is here.
Whatever he doesn't, he leaves for you.

What creature could find you
among these holy things?