The Hammock

When I lay my head in my mother’s lap

I think how day hides the star,

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 a good-bye on either side?

A window, and eternity on either side?

Yes, and a little singing between two great rests.

~Li-Young Lee