A poem by Chase Ambler
these tiny hands
just large enough
to grasp my finger
yet so vast
~ Reflection ~
This poem is about that strange dichotomy between the physical size of a newborn and the gigantic space they fill in your life. It’s just a simple poem, but I thought hands were a great way to illustrate it. There’s a magical moment the first time your new baby grips your finger with their hand. For me, it was the solidifying of the bond. There was the visual: there she was, in the real world now. There was the tactile: holding her for the first time was amazing and terrifying—don’t drop her, don’t drop her! Then there was the finger grab: she was not only real but she also responded to you. She clung to me, and the reality of how much she needed me and my wife rushed over me, filled me, and exploded out of me in indescribable ways.
Indescribable, that’s why we write poetry isn’t it? We try to describe a tiny fraction of those indescribable feelings and moments. That’s why poetry is difficult to write. That’s why it’s essential to write.
Chase Ambler is an American writer who spent his childhood in South and Southeast Asia. His life has been shaped by strange obsessions: heavy metal music, mountains, travel, and soccer. These subjects have all molded his poetry and prose in some way, but the birth of his two children may have the greatest impact yet. He currently lives with his wife, daughter, son, and dog in Colorado. If one went looking for Chase, they could find him anywhere from changing diapers to summiting 14,000 foot mountains, but odds are he’s in front of the computer working on his next novel.