top of page
C L B l e d s o e
First, she chatters, makes raspberries,
and finally cries in her crib; I can hear it
through the walls, even without the monitor.
I stumble through the cold, change her
diaper, get her dressed, and heat a bottle
to feed her sitting in my lap, eyes closed.
The morning is all silence and warmth, then.
bottom of page