Ten days old
awake in the dark
we rock to the sounds of a womb,
though my ear hears waves
then heart beats.
your hands are by your face
soothing you,
and the darting of your pupils
show your still form
reacting,
listening.
sucking with breathing
cradle and compass.
as though to say,
make
sure
you
value
steering
as much
as
you
value
nesting.
Don’t
make me
a nest
on
something
less sturdy than a tree.
Don’t pull up
roots that are
guideposts,
and though you travel
by wind,
make sure you call home,
home.
baby I see you,
seeing me
through
this
dark
to
the
sounds
of
wombs.