The Life We Get to Keep

Harry... I'm pregnant. Someone's going to call me Dad? Yes. Breathe, Harry. Your wedding ring against my palm; We sit until the house grows calm. You guide my hand to where she stirs; The future moves, and now it's hers. Your nursery stars are all askew; I leave them where they are, for you. My father talks of blood and heirs; We talk of names and teddy bears. I knew how cold a home could be. I knew what names could make you owe. We'll give them room to disagree, And somewhere safe enough to grow. Give me the mornings, give me the mess, All of the years we haven't met yet. Small muddy footprints and too little sleep - This is the life we get to keep. Let them be children, not heirs to our scars, With dreams of their own, not just echoes of ours. Not just the vows, but the things that we do - Give me the ordinary years with you. Our daughter's fingers grip my thumb; I hum until the morning comes. I never knew my father's song - We'll make one up, and sing it wrong. Three years, another heartbeat grows. Our daughter asks if brother knows The tune she's singing just for him. He kicks. She laughs. We start again. Your son has your talent for midnight trouble. And your talent for getting his way. I'll take this feed. Go back to sleep. The first few dinners start with tea And careful space left next to me. Hermione has cause to doubt; I listen; I don't shut her out. Now Ron brings chess; she stays till ten; We fill the empty cups again. No wedding ring could clear my name; I had to earn the trust that came. Ginny teaches both to fly; You shout, "Not yet!" I shout, "Not high!" My casework waits beside the door; Two broomsticks skid across the floor. Give me the mornings, give me the mess, All of the years we haven't met yet. Small muddy footprints and too little sleep - This is the life we get to keep. Let them be children, not heirs to our scars, With dreams of their own, not just echoes of ours. Not just the vows, but the things that we do - Give me the ordinary years with you. She's turned eleven, her trunk by the door; You check if she's packed, then check once more. Three autumns later, our son goes too; She takes his hand the way I do. Nine and three-quarters, steam and rain; Two tickets for the Hogwarts train. Two faces grinning through the glass; We wave until the carriages pass. I thought keeping them safe meant keeping them close. We gave them somewhere to come back to. They write of friends, of feasts, of snow, Of little things we long to know. No secret war between the lines - Just "Mum, send sweets," and "Dad, we're fine." The stairs are still. The kettle sings. Your thumb runs gently round my ring. I set two places, pour the tea; You move your chair right next to me. Give me the mornings, give me the mess, All of the years we haven't met yet. Two extra coats every Christmas Eve - This is the life we get to keep. Let them be people, not heirs to our scars; Our door stays open, wherever they are. Not just the vows, but the things that we do - I choose the ordinary years with you. It's quiet. Then ask your wife to dance.