When I lay my head in my mother's lap I think how day hides the stars, the way I lay hidden once, waiting inside my mother's singing to herself. And I remember how she carried me on her back between home and the kindergarten, once each morning and once each afternoon. I don't know what my mother's thinking. When my son lays his head in my lap, I wonder: Do his father's kisses keep his father's worries from becoming his? I think, Dear God, and remember there are stars we haven't heard from yet: They have so far to arrive. Amen, I think, and I feel almost comforted. I've no idea what my child is thinking. Between two unknowns, I live my life. Between my mother's hopes, older than I am by coming before me, and my child's wishes, older than I am by outliving me. And what's it like? Is it a door, and good-bye on either side? A window, and eternity on either side? Yes, and a little singing between two great rests.
Li-Young Lee, "The Hammock" from Book of My Nights. Copyright © 2001 by Li-Young Lee. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of BOA Editions, Ltd., boaeditions.org.