The Wrestler

for Alexander on your eighteenth birthday

photo credit: Nicolle McDougal

The Wrestler

Why, I wonder, does
My left hip buckle
When I stand?
Did I lift you too often
When your hands reached out
Well beyond your toddler years?

As a child you were irresistible 
Your smiles were hosannas
Your temper—bottle rocket flares
My heart leapt at your pronunciations
Of cimmanom, vallina,
Pelenope

Daddy said you’d be a wrestler
You live up to your name:
Defender of Men

Beneath the Hudson’s half moon
You spotted the Clearwater

Up on the Walkway
Heads whirled from the speed
Of the whizzing scooter
And everyone smiled
At its little driver
One leg lifted in the air

Time hurtled you to a sweaty mat
Where you and your opponent
Wrangle like bobcats

You’ve traded Tintin and sock monkeys
For Descartes and the Synoptics

Grappling like Jacob 
And your mother—
You too will limp

Keep His head in a cradle
Until you pin Him
And He gives you
Not a title
Not a medal
But your blessing

Stay on the mat
It’s where we learn to trust

The tenacity itself
Is where the blessings are:

Where are you?
Why can’t I hear you? 
When will the hurt end?

How can I be the mother of two men
When I’m still a child myself?