Little reflections of all the good that came before you
flitter across your newly-minted self.
You are a pinkened version of your grandfather,
and father, and me.
I can see, in you, the piano-player fingers
of my youngest brother, the wide eyes
of my cousin Ruth.
I see my mother in the strong set to your shoulders.
Seeing you now, with not even a day behind you,
I have no trouble believing you might become a God.
This piece was published in 2013 as part of the 2nd Annual Mormon Lit Blitz by the Mormon Lit Lab. Sign up for our newsletter for future updates.
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