How My Wife Holds Our Baby
- July 10, 2009, 3:11 pm |
Poetry
Watch how my wife holds our baby,
how calm he is in his sleep,
his breath smelling of milk.
There are no pictures of me as a baby,
being held like this,
wrapped in a favorite blue blanket,
one I would cried for,
one that would fray into pieces
falling to the floor --
blossoms falling into a blue pond,
floating like boats,
silent without paddles.
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