Saturday, February 19, 2011

Seeing Maren

When Dad called me in I walked over in the soft light,
And kneeling next to a crib I know I laid in
Peeked through at her for the first time
Sometimes there aren't enough words
The tiniest yawn I've ever seen
(Between quick, sweet breaths)
Coming from this perfect face and nose
And blinked-shut eyes
Her head the size of a fist
And fist the size of a thumb
Her fingernails drips of barely opaque paint
On the ends of blushing curled fingers
She blinked for an instant
The dark globes of her eyes
Maybe having registered a stranger
And then closed.
I crouched before her, transfixed.
There was nothing else.

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