Not Mine

My boys,
you two bundles of genetic joy,
whose DNA I donated to
but did not decide,
randomly sorted as it was
from the ancestral stew
of which I am one ingredient--
and of course there is another
whose legacy does not run in my veins
nor in my memory,
but runs through you,
yet it is not you either.

You two beings,
expressions of life itself,
(as the poet says),
and though I can see the shape of my brother's head
and the cleft of my father's chin,
it was not theirs either, but only handed on,
nor can I see the faces of the other side of your family
who may have contributed that closed-lip smile
or that ability to be the life of any party,
or maybe that's just the way the material arranged itself
through you and your particular experience of epi-genetics.

You two souls,
who have your own vehicles to
transport you through this life
on the never-before-or-will-be-again journey
that you're on,
as seen through your eyes' windows
and directed by your individual wills.

I release you,
hold my bow
against my cheek
and eye,
not the target,
but the vast
blue
wide open
uncharted
as yet undiscovered
geography
of
your
own
true
lives.