For Fathers of Girls 

for Susanne

When sperm leaves us
and we cockadoodledo
and our wives rise like morning

the children we start
are insignificant as bullets
that get lodged, say,

in a field somewhere
in the midwest.
If we are thinking then

it is probably of sleep
or the potency of rest, or
the one—hand catch we made

long ago at the peak of our lives.
Later, though, in a dream
we may imagine something in the womb

of our heads, neither boy nor girl,
nothing quite so simple.
But when we wake, our wives are

breathing like the wounded
on the whitest street in the world.
We are there

we are wearing conspicuous masks
for the first time,
our eyes show the sweat

from our palms.
Suddenly we are fathers
of girls: purply, covered with slime

we could kiss. There's a cry,
and the burden of living up
to ourselves is upon us again.

                         Stephen Dunn