I hear you before I see you,

the way your little bottom scoots from

step to step, a pillow by your feet.

I carry you back upstairs.

I start to sing

and your eyes

imprint on me,

as though the lyrics

are sleep calling.

now your head can find your pillow.

I keep singing,

and you move your back closer to

my arms that you want draped around you.

I hold you close,

resting my head on your ribs,

letting your even heart rate

interrupt my fluttering.

You know me that well.

my body calms enough

for me to notice what

disturbs me,

this rabbit hole no longer austere.

engagements broken

fresh scars

lengthier scars

a heart less skilled at walling itself off.

medical betrayals

sick statuses that haven’t converted

to something more well.

enormous oceans to explore.

depth as vast as width

width first notable.

i’m struck by the chemistry

between strands of hair

and visible tree roots,

remembering her comment

that when I speak its in the shape of a ribbon.

curved

unfurled

absent mysteriousness

not obviously clear

linking the top with the bottom.

your rib with my ear

your eyes with my voice

you falling asleep to my keen alertness,

hair blown in another image

fastening things to the earth,

leaving your arms free to cradle,

new life brought nearer

to the throat containing lullabies

and the heartbeat that is constantly playing.

the little girl a shadow on the branch,

something else in her arms,

needs shrinking and expanding

in relation to new factors,

most frequently as new beings.

lit by the moon,

layering water with dirt,

substances intermixed

grains of sand

twigs peeking out of branches

like fingers,

and nests

water masses

water droplets

leaves storing food

making food

out of light

and water

and dirt.

eyes closed,

brightened

maturely waning,

intently listening

to how holding your breath

became breathing under water,

became birthing a new world.

perched in the tree roots

gazing graciously

back at a lullaby

up at the moon

down in the waters

seedlings of green space

crests parting

sounds heard,

forming between your lips.

whatever helps you feel,

you whisper back.

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.