365 Poems/201 Day One (Rough First Draft)
I want to bottle your mother’s smile.
Bring it out when we need it in the future,
when you first learn to use blusher, mix cocktails.
There’s an intimate warmth in this white cave
curtains ajar, so the sun can see you, and bless
your, beautiful, scrunched up forehead.
I was protective of your tiny insides before
you arrived. Fear nearly crippled me,
as you slowly moved through the day.
Your heavy lashes have collapsed.
Your tiny curled hand a shell on
your mother’s sand coloured breast.
There is a look about her I’ve never seen,
a radiance, as if a lantern has been lit
underneath her skin.