Opening my eyes
In the incubator
Far from my mother's breast
I saw him first,
Mon Papa,
Reassured to see me alive,
Eager to hold me.
Since then,
That look on his face,
Protective and loving,
Remains.
It is even more apparent
With time passing,
Him aging,
Me growing.
There is mystery
And depth
In the relationship
Between the father
And the daughter,
Between my father
And me.
This umbilical cord
That we can't see,
Can't cut,
Is at times discreet
Or so present and obvious
That it brings tears to my eyes
And enlivens
My fear of losing him.
I can't watch his tears
Of emotion,
Of sadness
Or of joy
Without the Loulotte in the incubator
Being awoken
And wanting to be held
And hold him.
His vulnerability
Is the most moving thing
I know.
I love him
More than he knows
And never feel more secure
Than when he says goodnight
To Céleste and I
And kisses our foreheads.
[Show French Version]
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