Between joy and sorrow. (Poem).

Between joy and sorrow.

   After my oblivious little boy greets the tile floor
   with the side of his head, or worse yet parachutes from the bed
   with no rip cord and little chance of landing on his feet,
   the primal scream doesn't arrive promptly. It takes a few moments

   to stretch wide the cavern of his mouth--as if stopping to consider
   the consequences of being clumsy or the joy he had known
   just seconds ago, when the world was basically fair--before he
   clarifies his pain one-hundred fold with cries that live up to the
   hype.

   As I coddle and bounce him back to happiness, I'm wishing we all had
   a few moments of epiphany before all hell broke loose, time to
   assess the ramifications of what we've done and what well do next,
   and then, when all else fails, the good sense to reach up our hands
   and be held.