My Mother’s First Gift

My mother's first gift

To me as a father myself was bestowed far before my children 

Were born. It was the gift of my youngest sister, Merijune, 

Born when I was already fifteen. 

I could barely be a brother to her, 

So it was hard for me to see her as a gift. I had to wait. 

The ribbons had knots too hard for me to untie; wrapping 

Did not yield to my grasp until years 

Later. I left home when she was a toddler. 

I recall playing with her more like an uncle, baby-sitting, 

Teasing her sometimes to make her start, then laugh 

Never knowing how such play 

Was part of my mother’s gift to me 

Years later when I became the father of twin girls, 

I found myself tweaking one of them on the knee, 

A brief form of tickling her 

That I had done often with 

Merijune. It was then I realized that I had unwrapped 

My mother’s gift from twenty-five years before, 

Given in the form of a little 

Girl, now a proud aunt.