A Declaration of Everything

by Gregory Lobas

Tommy, want some water? 

my daughter-in-law asks.

Pease. (He can't say his ells yet.)

Nor does my grandson does say mama

when he means "mama"

or wawa for "water".

He conflates the two, 

minting one new coin.

mawa

He drains his sippy cup, holds it up,

asks, Mawa?

His mother has dressed him 

in a new sunsuit and sunhat

and set him like a bright sailing skiff

on the shore. She beholds him beholding

how winds rush right past him

flipping the brim of his hat on their way.

He eyes the piercing brightness of sand

still brighter the sun, this blinking,

bewildered seal pup of a boy.

His mother smiles at the first exposure  

of his pink, nacre skin to the buffeting

of elements. His right foot

he buries into the warm sift. It feels

good. The left he holds aloft

retaining integrity of his personal space.

Spanning earth and sky,

he points to the whole wide

scope of motion before him

as if to measure, if he could,

the unfathomable seething 

of the sea and declares it, 

mawa. One word;

mawa, foundation of waters

mawa, foundation of thirst

mawa, mothering of ocean 

mawa, ocean of mothering

mawa, the womb

mawa, the empty vessel

mawa, for all we know at birth

mawa, the brightness beyond our knowing

mawa, the veil of forgetfulness 

mawa, the singularity 

everything all at once. Yes.

Mawa.