Bedtime
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Through the crib rails,I find you. Not because you are hidden,but because this is whereyour little dreams live—behind dark wooden barsthat have never been a prison,only a promise. A promisethat you are safe. One tiny arm curled beneath you,one sleepy sigh escapingthose little lips,as if even in your dreamsyou are whisperingto the morning. I stand…
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She sleepslike the whole worldhas finally decidedto whisper. One tiny cheekpressed into soft sheets,lashes resting,little lips still partedas if dreamsare too importantto pause for breathing. There is something sacredabout a baby who trusts sleepso completely—who believes the worldwill still be kindwhen she opens her eyes again. I watch the rise and fallof your tiny breathsand…
Between Bruises and Blooms 