I wanted to walk outside and praise the stars, But David, my baby son, coughed and coughed. His comfort was more important than the stars So I comforted and kissed him in his dark Bedroom, but my comfort was not enough. His mother was more important than the stars So he cried for her breast and milk. It’s hard For fathers to compete with mothers’ love. In the dark, mothers illuminate like the stars! Dull and jealous, I was the smallest part Of the whole. I know this is stupid stuff But I felt less important than the farthest star As my wife fed my son in the hungry dark. How can a father resent his son and his son’s love? Was my comfort more important than the stars? A selfish father, I wanted to pull apart My comfortable wife and son. Forgive me, Rough God, because I walked outside and praised the stars, And thought I was more important than the stars.
by Sherman Alexie
Hanging Loose Press