Poem for Henry

One of my son Henry’s first and favorite friends is a beautiful, curly-headed, and articulate little star named Clara.

The other day I was surprised and happy to see an email from Clara’s grandmother, Jan Rider Newman. Jan is a poet and explained that last summer she’d written a poem about Henry after seeing him at the playground. She’d decided to share it with me.

I can’t tell you how much I love it. It’s a perfect characterization of Henry, who loves to observe.

(And to eat, of course.)

Brooklyn Playground, June 2011
(for Henry)

Amid hot pink dresses, mint and yellow
silly string, shrills of children bent on fun,
you eat pizza from your mama’s hand,
watch sparrows by the black iron fence,
stroll the asphalt, hands behind your back—
still center in the eye of chaos.