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       A Verse Narrative by Michael E. Mautner


    She held his shoulders from behind,
    wondering what kind of horror
    would invade their home and peace.
    "Don't step on any glass, dear,"
    she warned, but he only stared
    at something in the tall tall grass
    that beckoned hope, canceled fear.

    A soft glow came from the fields
    beyond the trees out back, from
    the plateau that stretched from beyond
    their porch to the still dark horizon.
    "Stay here, Sarah," he said, and stepped
    down three steps and across the yard.
    "But, Eben, dear," she implored,
    but he ignored her and went,
    grin brimming on his lips
    toward the dim light that shone with life,
    to meet the gift he knew delivered,
    the answered prayer that would heal
    the widening rift
    between him and his barren wife --
    the child they'd call for both their kin --
    and lifted he him from blanket-bed,
    raising him aloft, high over his own head,
    to greet the day with a dead-waking cry
    that said
          -- Here am I,
             by flame and drizzle christened
             and from the heavens sent!
             Love me world,
             I am young Clark Kent!

    Eben wrapped him in colored cloth
    from Krypton and took him to mother
    in the arms of his twenty-year's lover
    while he lay spade to the wounded earth.

    Out back, buried in its cozy berth,
    the ship, twisted foreign steel, lay.
    Its sleeping spirit will spy
    on the boy until the day
    his young blood bubbles
    and forces him to fly.

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