NaPoWriMo, Day 9

The prompt from today’s NaPoWriMo blog called to write about something small and something big meeting.  Here’s my take!

 

My young son, my bread loaf

blanketed in his cradle, fist balls

clutched tight to his chest, howls

into the Kermit-green cave

of his room, unable to make out

my scent or blink through blurry eyes

at the indistinct roundness

of my face.

 

I’m in the bathroom.  This is no easy task

for a woman post-birth; it requires care

and a peri bottle and time

to avoid the tear-stitches and hemorrhoids.

I hear the call but can’t answer, can’t rise

from this maternal throne

though the ache in my breasts tugs me

towards the door.

 

My older son, my string bean,

halfway to losing his toddler roundness,

approaches.  I see this

through two open doors.  I see

his hand come to his brother’s chest,

barely able to reach over the railing.

I see his lips purse in a shush

that calls to mind water, and motion,

and closed eyes.

 

S’okay, he says.  Mama’s comin’.  Don’ cry.

 

Quiet and dust motes and slatted afternoon light.

An infant hiccups his tears into peacefulness.

A brother is born.