Between Bruises and Blooms

She sleeps
like the whole world
has finally decided
to whisper.

One tiny cheek
pressed into soft sheets,
lashes resting,
little lips still parted
as if dreams
are too important
to pause for breathing.

There is something sacred
about a baby who trusts sleep
so completely—
who believes the world
will still be kind
when she opens her eyes again.

I watch the rise and fall
of your tiny breaths
and memorize them,
because motherhood
has taught me
that even ordinary moments
become memories
before we’re ready.

Sleep, my sweet Goose.

The dishes can wait.
The laundry can wait.
The clock can keep ticking.

Right now,
the universe
is the size of a crib,
the rhythm of your breathing,
and a mama
who can’t stop smiling
at the miracle
of watching you dream.