For Sammy
by Eric Heller

The spring night folds into

a twilit April hush

too soon yet for crickets and toads.

I hold you in my arms

on the wooden porch

the night you are one years old.

The deep dark fills the blackening sky.

Dim figures of birds scatter branches up high.

New buds hang in the heavy air

that the rain has stilled to a calming mist.


For these miracles:

For you,

for the mystery surrounding,

for the new buds

pent up with flowers and green energy


Tomorrow you’ll see

what it means to be



Eric started out teaching History and English at colleges in New Jersey, but after a few years ended up as a technical and marketing writer—much to his unending surprise. Eric writes poetry in his spare time, is considering freelance writing as a fulltime career, and has lately begun writing about himself in the third person. He lives in New Jersey with his wife Angel and two-year-old daughter Sammy.


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