Letters from a Young Father. Edoardo Ponti
and his own mother, recalling powerfully what they have given to him in the life leading to this moment.
Just as crucially, the poems of Letters from a Young Father emerge as spare epistles in which Edoardo Ponti searches for any lasting understanding that he might pass along to his child as he considers the dimensions and dilemmas of our existence in a complex world. He offers his own experience interwoven with loving and modest notes of instruction about those ways one might choose to live ethically and faithfully in this world.
Letters from a Young Father is one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful books of recent years. If I were to choose just one book to give to a new father or to a new mother at the beginning of his or her journey to becoming a parent, it would be, without question, Edoardo Ponti’s Letters from a Young Father.
—David St. John
I.
You are not the first
The sun has kissed nor the last
But we will hold you and kiss you
Like the very first and the very last
No wind has blown through your hair
No ground has touched your feet
But you are in our every step
& all the air
You are still beyond time
But in our eyes you are already forever
Neither boy nor girl
We raise your tiny heart to the sun
& offer the promise of you to the sky
To the earth & to the wind
Let them bless those fresh first heartbeats
Those tiny knocks on our door
Born from courage
And the faith
Of this new soul called
You
II.
Before the beginning there was
A morning overlooking the Pacific
A small room with open windows
Sunlight softened by a veil of clouds
Before the beginning there was
A ring of coffee mugs on the bedside table
Silence of skin spreading through sheets
Eyes reading the movements of shadows
Before the beginning there was
A man and a woman with no map to connect
A chance meeting—A number
On a napkin and the first phone call
Before the beginning there was
Paris and pain—There was the courage to love
The blind leap of faith not so blind after all
Before the beginning
There was your mother—There was me
And all the false starts
That paved our separate ways
So we could find each other
Before the beginning
There was another world—A whole other me
Before the beginning
There was already you
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