Nice poem about co sleepingNice poem about co sleeping
Steam rises, here and north of here,
> from a hundred holes in the snow,
> from a hundred warm stone caves
> where sister bear curls dreaming against the cold
> around a cub who grumbles, stirs
> the way you do against my belly,
> under this thick, white blanket.
> In the walls of here and everywhere
> in fluffy nests of shredded work gloves,
> leaves, insulation,
> mouse mother's white belly curves
> like a cresent moon around her naked brood,
> countaining their blindness.
> Think of it: in attic boxes, basement drawers,
> warm fur and the tiny miracle of mouse milk.
> Even in the deepest sleep I cannot put you down.
> I know from instinct
> that birth takes months; a push from womb
> to cradleboard, hammock, sling.
> Woman rises, sore from birthing,
> returns to the work of life. Hands free
> for gathering, digging in dirt, kneading bread,
> she walks unhindered, patting the sling
> like a pregnant belly, shifting familiar weight.
> Baby remembers the tight, dark warth,
> the comfort of heartsounds, rides rocked
> in her walk, awash in the waves of her breathing
> like before.
> At night, in the furs and quilts,
> in hammocks and sleeping mats, pioneer rope beds,
> in wigwamns, grass huts, soddies,
> they sleep as we sleep now
> heart to heart.
> Before you were born
> I listened for you all night,
> curled on my side around your squirming.
> Now your breathing comforts me back,
> you wake and nurse, rooting, grunting like a lion
> smelling of warth and milk.
> When newborn nightmares furrow your brow,
> (what fear from deep and long ago?)
> Push that quivering bottom lip, you stiffen,
> reachout, touch . . .
> mama and that face erases, small pond after a rain.
> I try to imagine why you should be
> in the next room, alone, on that wide caged mattress
> where predators drool and prowl,
> where instinct (your only compass) says unheld is
> Alone, crying that wail of dropped and failing,
> the howl of the foundling,
> orphan left on forest floor,
> or glacial ridge, in desert sand,
> by Kelly Averill-Savino, 1995
> Laura H. Fields
> "He is your friend, your partner, your defender,
> your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He
> will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat
> of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such