They said I would lie for hours in a bassinet
with a Raggedy Ann propped in the corner,
babbling to her on and on, engrossed
in the conversation, content with the company.
They said...but they're gone now.
They told the story fondly, as a good memory.
But I've wondered, is that why I'm not good
at small talk? Why I talk to myself far more often
than I confide in someone else?
Did that cause failure to thrive? Did I fail to thrive?
Do I wonder about that from having talked to myself
from the bassinet on? Should I resent my parents
for the practice? But I guess most of all
I wonder what I did to my infant sons, my young sons,
my teenagers, my adult sons that causes them to ponder
how I affected their social and psychological development
by the less-than-wise things I did.
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