Many years ago, I was a temporary stand-in for a father who did not want to know his new-born child. For five years, as a matter of fact, I played that role. One can imagine the forces that were constellated by such a relationship.

As it turns out, the child's father eventually made his way into her life and after some time, wanted me out. And so it happened. Such events have a lasting impact upon one. After stumbling through a few dead years, I began to work with children, which I found healing.

I also wrote a poem, on what would have been this child's 7th birthday. It came about in this way.

I had happened upon a compendium of poetry by and about children, edited by Naomi Shihab Nye. I forget the name of the volume. However, in the book was one poem entitled, "Every Day is April 23rd." Accompanying this poem was a child-like picture of a robin flying.

It just so happened that this child's mother's name was Robin. And as I said, April 23rd was this child's birthday. I knew that I would one day write a poem with this title. So I duly bought the book, carefully cut out the picture with title, and on April 23rd, 2001, sat down and wrote this poem about a date that has played a repeating and fated role in my life.  The form roughly emulates that of a Persian ghazal.

Every Day is April 23rd

When winter turns to spring, chilly winds whip through my heart.
While breezes blow my dreams, blossoms deep-freeze in my heart.

Do we believe love comes once only, in our heart of hearts?
Ages long since past, you're but a child still in my heart.

I must believe love heals the grief, just to make a start,
Or despair of sweet relief; my dear, love keeps you in my heart.

One morning I awoke somewhere, beyond identity:
Freedom from the memories embittering my heart.

I took that chance, walked that wire, and mocked mortality.
It will always be the 23rd of April in my heart.

A bold antagonist struck down, sans scars that you can see;
We fought, but subterraneously, love's deepening my heart.

Zoe, little child, my friend: no love's ever for nought.
I'll hold you an eternity of Aprils in my heart.