By CL Bledsoe

They cut you out of your mother, blue
and silent and so, so breakable, handed
you off, and shoved us into a room full

of curtains and quiet murmurs. Smaller
than a football, you lay in my palm
while I wondered what I’d do when you woke

and started to cry. Everyone behind
the curtains would know I had no idea
how to fix this. Tiny, bundled girl,

you opened your eyes, fixed them on me
like a duckling imprinting on its mama.
The room was empty save for you and me.

Stuff My Stupid Heart Likes by CL Bledsoe (co-author of and The Wild Word:

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