for Madeline Olive

Swathed in flannel, she mewled
a little in my arms which seemed to register
almost no weight at all.
The tiny crescent moons of her fingernails
rose in the air where she’d been
so suddenly gathered

as if to say:  hmmm, so this
is the world of breath
and light; give me time
to adapt to your ways,
I don’t have the voice to tell you yet
all that I know.

 

First appeared in Innisfree Poetry Journal.