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,

through

this

dark

to

the

sounds

of

wombs.

--

--

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Amanda Lindamood

Amanda Lindamood

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